


A Magical Renaissance

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-14
Updated: 2009-12-26
Packaged: 2018-10-27 01:41:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 274,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10799067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Hermione goes through an emotional and magical Renaissance in a race against time to save her life.





	1. Chapter 1 - Confections of a Broken Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
> **Author's notes:**

  
Author's notes:

Thank you Indie for your invaluable assistance!  You're the best!

 

* * *

 

The temperatures teased of spring.  Many people were out and about including Hermione Granger who, with a lilt in her step, checked traffic and crossed to the side street.  Up ahead, facing a less traveled lane, a red awning flapped in the breeze.  Hermione strode along casually, but wary of the public location.  The same sign had been there for as long as she could remember.  ‘Closed For Refurbishment.’  Hermione chuckled at the naivety of the Muggle world and the simple and yet ingenious way this red brick building stood facing to the general population and yet remained so well concealed.

 

She smiled remembering how she and Ginny had laughed over the awful attire still dressing the mannequin in the window.  Molly told them she used to call it ‘Forever Fifty Six’ when she was growing up, both for the year of the fashion and the apparent age of the mannequin itself, who had obviously seen better days.  They played a little game, each one coming up with a new name for the plastic lady who stood like a matron guarding the entrance against would-be trespassers.

 

Hermione took one last glance around.  Assured that the coast was clear, she stepped through the glass with the ease of dipping one’s hand in a bucket of water and emerged on the other side into the lobby of St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies.

 

It looked the same as always.  The white walls echoed the shiny, tiled floors.  A general antiseptic smell left most patients with a sometimes unhealthy urge to leave before their time.  Hermione couldn’t blame anyone for wanting to get out of this place as quickly as possible – that is…if you were a patient.  However, the atmosphere seemed to direct the staff of Healers, assistants and technicians to follow a different course.  For them, this masked building provided a valuable service – one which could not be found anywhere else in Britain.  Muggle hospitals dotted the map of London, but only one magical hospital – only one.  It remained the single place a witch or wizard could be treated for injuries that fell beyond the margins of human biology.

 

And this was the place Ginny had chosen to work.  Following the Battle of Hogwarts, she found herself playing the part on the field – nurse, caregiver, soother of wearied nerves, surrogate sister to small children; all the while masking her own sorrow and exhaustion.  Hermione and Ron found her in the Great Hall several hours after the battle.  They had returned after succumbing to some much needed sleep to find Ginny tending to wounds the old-fashioned way until the newly arrived Healers could give her instruction on the next steps.

 

Ginny had worked tirelessly for hours.  Hermione suspected it was just her way of keeping her mind occupied and off the terrible truth that lay lifeless under a sheet just yards away.  Her own family’s sorrow could wait.  There were wounds that needed care.  

 

It was Harry who finally pulled her away, having returned from his own kip a couple of hours later to find her exhausted to the point of tears.  Hermione would learn later on how reminiscent it had been of a similar scene at the top of the Astronomy tower a year earlier.  Whatever the reason, Ginny kept working with the Healers and now, two years later, held a permanent position at the hospital.

 

Hermione followed the hallway to the lifts and proceeded to the fourth floor.  Stepping out from between the gates, her senses were assaulted by a large sign with bold red letters.

 

‘Infectious Spells Department’

‘Protective Charms Required At All Times’

 

The smell penetrated her skin even more so than the other floors, a distinct mix of something Hermione associated with alcohol, ink and the strange smell of burning paper.  She stepped toward a nearby counter, tucked securely on the exterior of a double layer of glass doors and warning signs, where a plump lady in a pink smock smiled up at her.

 

“May I help you, dear?”

 

“Yes, I’m here to see Ginny Weasley.”

 

“And your name, dear?”

 

“Hermione Granger.”

 

“Ah, Miss Granger!  Such an honor to meet you!”

 

“Oh, um…yes, well…thank you.”

 

“I’ll call Ginny for you.  Why don’t you have a seat over there?”

 

Hermione slid into the green leatherette chair.  It had been almost two years since they had seen each other.  Hermione had just finished college.  Two years of Muggle college and two of Magical.  Even after learning about her magical abilities, she had never lost the desire to go on to university.  Learning was addictive to Hermione.  She never tired of reading, learning new things, exploring both the Muggle and Magical worlds around her.  So, after finishing Hogwarts, she decided to further her education.

 

A shuffle of feet drew Hermione’s attention to the left where a swinging red pony-tail appeared around the corner.  Ginny’s face lit up as she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and waved her wand at the first set of glass doors.  She stepped through and stood in a small alcove between both sets of doors and performed another spell before finally exiting into the outer hall.

 

“Oh My God!”  Ginny stopped for a second and smiled at her friend.  

 

“Hi, Ginny.”  Hermione stood and within seconds the two friends were locked in an embrace.

 

“I can’t believe it.  You’re back!”  Ginny gave a final squeeze and stepped back, puffing that strand of hair back again.

 

“Yes, I’m back.  For good.  Well, that is…assuming I can find a job soon.”

 

“Are you kidding?  The famous Hermione Granger…winner of how many awards and commendations?  I hate to be your owl when the post comes tomorrow.”

 

“Well, you should talk.”  Hermione glanced around at the surroundings.  “Look at this!  Working at St. Mungo’s and pretty high up, if you ask me.”

 

“There are lots of Healers better than me, but I have to say I think I’ve found my calling.  I never even knew about the Infectious Spells Department until a few years ago.  I find it all rather fascinating.”  Ginny shook her head, still smiling.  “Harry is going to flip when he sees you.”

 

“Yeah?  How is our hero boy these days?”

 

“Oh, he’s good, really good.  Working his way up the ranks in the Auror Department.”

 

“And, are the two of you…?”

 

“We’re great.”

 

“Come on, Gin.  Spill it.”

 

“What?  There isn’t much to spill.  He’s working, I’m working, he’s just as adorable as ever and I’m still madly in love with him.”

 

Hermione couldn’t help but echo Ginny’s giggle.

 

“So, any wedding bells on the horizon?”

 

“Well, we couldn’t very well go and get married with you off in another country.  So, now that you’re back, perhaps he’ll get down to business.”

 

“I’m going to have to have a chat with that brother of mine about his unbecoming procrastination.”

 

“No you won’t!  You leave him be.  He’ll ask when he’s ready and, besides, I’m in no hurry.  We’re together.  He’s committed to me and I to him.  My parents don’t know it, but I’m practically living with him.  I just leave some items at the Burrow and make it a point of dropping in enough so that they think I still reside with them.  You know mum, she’d go berserk if she knew.  It took me a while just to get Ron to stop harping on it, but he’s alright with it now ever since Harry and he had a good long talk.”  She air quoted the last word.

 

“A talk.  About what?  I’m almost afraid to ask.”

 

“I’m not sure, but I think one or both of them did a piss-poor job healing black eyes on the other.  I could still see the graying of the skin and a slightly shifted nose.”

 

“They were fighting?!”  Hermione asked wide-eyed.

 

“Well, you know Ron.  He’s always been overly protective of me and well, Harry wasn’t about to give in this time.  Harry’s no wimp, you know.  Besides, they were all buddy-buddy by the time they saw me.”

 

Ginny gestured toward the green chair and slid in beside her.

 

“So, what about you?”

 

“Me?”

 

“Yeah, boyfriend?  Fiance?”  

 

Hermione couldn’t help but notice the droop in Ginny’s smile as if she were dreading the answer.

 

“Boyfriend.  Sort of.  John.  He’s a Muggle, but he knows what I am.”

 

This time Ginny just nodded.  Hermione knew she was afraid to ask any more.  Discussing Hermione and Ron’s love lives had been a sore subject for several years now.  They had been nearly inseparable for a year after the Battle of Hogwarts.  It had been abundantly clear that Ron was madly in love and Hermione just glowed when she was with him.  

 

At first, the whole higher education discussion had gone smoothly, especially because Hermione’s choice of schools put her in the general area, but when talk of university abroad entered the equation, things began to unravel.  Both of them put up a brave face and told everyone that they were fine and would write and continue on, but those close to them knew that the distance and time would begin to break those threads that bound them so closely.

 

“So, um…how is Ron?”  Hermione asked, tentatively.  “I mean…I did get a letter about four months ago and he seemed fine…but…”

 

“He’s pretty good.   Working a lot of hours with Harry.”

 

This time it was Hermione nodding, her eyes glancing away as if deep in thought.  Ginny rested a hand on Hermione’s leg.

 

“I know he still cares, but…he just doesn’t want to show it.”

 

“Does he…does he have a girlfriend?”

 

“Not a steady girlfriend, but he has seen a few girls.  Nothing serious, mind you.”

 

Hermione couldn’t help feeling that Ginny was trying to put a positive spin on the news, and that just made her more nervous.  She had this sneaking suspicion that ‘nothing serious’ was an exaggeration.

 

“I never meant for us to grow apart, you know?”  Hermione’s hand covered Ginny’s.  “I didn’t plan for school to do this to us.  Life just got busy and the letters got a bit more infrequent and…”

 

“You don’t have to explain to me, Hermione.  I understand busy.  Believe me.  Anyway, speaking of…I have to get back, but you have to come over for dinner later.”

 

“Tonight?”

 

“Yes, tonight.  Harry will be so happy to see you.  So, how about six o’clock?  Do you know how to find Harry’s house?”

 

“House?  When did he get a house?”

 

“Oh, he decided it was a waste of money to throw down on a flat each month, so he bought a place.  It’s much too big for him if you ask me, but he keeps hinting that he’ll find a way to fill it soon.”

 

Ginny giggled again, drawing Hermione out of her own meanderings as she jumped up and walked over to the high counter.  Grabbing a slip of paper, she scribbled out some information and returned to hand it to Hermione.

 

“Here’s the directions.  Six o’clock tonight.  Alright?”

 

“That sounds great.”  Hermione leaned in for another hug and then Ginny turned and waved her wand for the glass doors to open once again.  She did another spell in the alcove, entered onto the other side and waved at Hermione as she jogged down the hall.

  

*** 

 

Ron Apparated to his usual spot.  It was far enough off the road to remain hidden and several blocks from his flat.  The walk home had become a kind of cathartic ritual that he unknowingly performed every night.   Maybe it was the stress of the job, the constant physicality that he was forced to use or perhaps just the absurdity of witnessing such brutality and stupidity on a daily basis.  Either way, Ron was angry.  Every night.  This little walk home gave him just enough time to work it out of his system so that he hopefully didn’t take it out on anyone else.

 

“Fuckin’ imbecile,” he muttered under his breath as he set out for home.  It had been a particularly hard day.  “You couldn’t just drop the wand.  Had to keep it up, didn’t you?  Had to put up a fight.”

 

He puffed out several strong bursts of air, willing his fists to open and relax.  He still had this overwhelming urge to pound something and he didn’t want to have to use another _Reparo_ on something in his flat.  Too many items had already suffered the consequences of Ron’s daily frustration.

 

His long strides carried him down the sidewalk.  The weather was beautiful this particular day – a nice change after three days of fog and rain, typical London weather.  He tried to clear his mind, shift his focus to something else, his footsteps pounding with the beat of his heart and the throbbing in his head.

 

  _Alright, Ron.  Get your mind off it.  It’s a beautiful day.  Look at the park and think about tonight.  What do you want to do tonight?_  

 

Ron forced himself to look over at the nearby park.  Several people jogged the path, one old man walked his dog, some boys played with a Frisbee in the clearing.  A woman with long, brown curly hair sat with her back to him on the park bench, a book resting in her lap.  The vision brought Ron to a halt.  His eyes locked on to her and grew wide with hope and anticipation. 

 

  _Hermione._   

His legs were just about to advance him in her general direction when she glanced over her shoulder and he got a solid look at her features.  His shoulders slumped.

  _Stop it, Ron!  It isn’t her.  It’s never her._   

Heartbeat returning to normal, he started walking again, tossing one last look at the woman’s back.  His hands slid into his pockets and his gait slowed a bit, the anger finally flushed out of his system.  Seeing her was all it took.  She always had a way of calming him.  

  _I should write her a letter.  It’s been months.  Oh, hell, she’s probably forgotten all about me by now._  

 

He turned up the walk in front of his flat and approached the steps to his door.

 

  _What if she hasn’t?  Are you kidding, Ron?  Someone probably snatched her up before you could say Quidditch.  Wait.  Something isn’t right._  

 

Ron paused, his handle on the doorknob.  He hadn’t left any lights on this morning, but the flat was definitely lit now.  Drawing his wand slowly, he tried to peak through the window, but nothing looked odd.  Gripping the handle firmly, he slowly opened the door and stepped around the edge, his wand pointing ahead of him.

 

Nothing looked out of place.  Still, several candles were lit over the mantle and the electric lights in the kitchen were on.  He was sure this wasn’t his doing.  Keeping close to the wall, he moved quietly toward the kitchen, his senses acutely aware of every sound, every smell, every ripple in the air movement around him.  It was a learned response.  Years of training had prepared him for nearly every scenario.  He had lost count of the number of flats, businesses, warehouses and even private homes he had searched.

 

Turning into the kitchen doorway, his face was met by a wide-eyed shriek.

 

“Ron!   Oh, my god!”

 

He drew his wand upright with a jerk and let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

 

“Fuck, Diane, I almost cursed you into the next room!”

 

Diane stood with a hand pressed to her chest.  “You scared me to death!”

 

“Well, what do you expect when I come home and find someone trespassing in my flat?”

 

“Trespassing?  You gave me the Floo address!” she retorted, sounding a bit annoyed by his accusation.

 

He slipped his wand back in his pocket and ran a hand through his hair in what appeared as an attempt to calm himself.  “I know I did, but I just didn’t expect to find you sitting in my flat when I came home!”

 

Her expression softened almost immediately.  “I just wanted to stop by and see if we could do something tonight.  I have the whole night free.”

 

The tall, blond wasted no time in sidling up to Ron’s chest and gripping the collar of his robes.  He had to admit, she was quite pretty when she smiled.  Before becoming an agent for several professional Quidditch players, Diane had done a bit of modeling work.  Her five foot ten inch height put her just a few inches below him.  They had only met about two months earlier, introduced at a Chudley Cannons match.  In fact, Ron wasn’t sure that giving out his Floo address had been the wisest move, but he had to admit that he had been caught in the throws of lust at the time, just like at the present moment.

 

She pulled him toward her and pressed her lips to his, making funny little noises as if she were eating some delicious dessert.  Ron had told Harry about it, calling them ‘yummy noises’ and that they kind of irritated him.  However, her other attributes seemed to make up for it.  A long, slender leg drew up the inside of his thigh.

 

Fisting his robes, she directed them toward the sofa and pushed him back so that he sunk heavily into the cushions.

 

“Did you miss me?” she asked, an intentional allure to her voice.  Ron never got a chance to even answer before she knelt down and reached in through the split in his robes and unbuckled his belt.

 

“Diane.  Look, I’ve had a really long day and…”

 

“Let me make it all better.”  Her voiced echoed the smooth touch of her hand, sliding over his crotch.

 

The degree of intimacy between them had increased in the previous weeks, but somehow Ron had held himself back.  They hadn’t gone all the way.  She was beautiful and had a lovely body – one that she didn’t mind flaunting – but he hadn’t felt the real emotional connection to her just yet.  Perhaps it was all those years of his mom’s lectures on manners or his dad’s discussion about respecting women.  He knew that he could just take her if he wanted to and she’d give in, and he’d enjoy it very much, but something told him to stop.  She certainly hadn’t ever touched him flesh to flesh down there.

 

However, at the moment, his nerves were on edge and he was inclined to just let her have her way with him.

 

“Mmm.  Very nice.”  She purred as she reached into his boxers and pulled him free.

 

Ron watched her long fingers glide down his length and couldn’t help the influx of blood that rushed through his groin.  Especially when she licked her lips and then slid them over his tip.

 

“Yes, yummy.”

 

There it was again.  The ‘yummy’ word.  If his mind hadn’t been already occupied by an increasing level of wanton urges, he would have groaned at the reference.  Instead, his head fell back against the sofa and his eyes slipped shut as she began to stroke him.  He didn’t care if she thought of him as chocolate cake, tonight he was just going to enjoy it.

 

*** 

 

Hermione decided to take a cab for her first visit to Harry’s new house.  She didn’t want to risk Apparating into the wrong neighborhood.  She thanked the driver, slipping him the fare over the seat.

 

The house took up much too much space.  She stopped and glanced at the address, just to make sure she hadn’t made a mistake.  This looked more like a hotel than a private home.  The cab pulled away and Hermione found herself gaping at the three story fascade.  She knew Harry had money, but good lord!

 

Suddenly, the front doors opened and Ginny stood in the frame, waving at her madly.  Hermione smiled and made her way up the walk.  Both sides were trimmed in a beautiful array of flowers, neatly manicured.  The house itself appeared pretty old, but very majestic.  At least compared to her flat.  She had found a place not too far away.  John lent her the down-payment and she promised to pay him back as soon as she got her first pay.  It wasn’t very big or all that special, but it was warm and somewhat secure.

 

Hermione had barely stepped five feet into the house before a strong pair of arms lifted her off her feet.  

 

“Hermione!”

 

She wrapped her arms around his neck as he swung her around in circles.

 

“Harry!”

 

“Damn, you are a sight for sore eyes.”  He released her for only a second before hugging her again.  “I’ve missed you.”

 

This time she squeezed him back a bit harder.  “I’ve missed you, too, Harry.”

 

“Ginny told me about your visit today and I couldn’t believe it!  Hermione Granger has come back to the roost.”

 

“The roost, huh?”  She smiled at his obvious enthusiasm.  He didn’t look much different.  Perhaps a stone heavier, but the same irrepressibly messy hair and piercing green eyes.

 

“Come on.  Let me give you the tour.”

 

Harry took her all over the house.  After about the first six or seven rooms, Hermione began to lose count.  There were at least seven bedrooms, along with a beautiful library that had immediately caught her attention.  He invited her to come and stay with him if she wanted, but Hermione told him about her flat.

 

“Well, you can still come visit as much as you like.  Use the library.  I have to admit, I thought of you when I saw that room for the first time.  I could just see your face light up at the concept of filling those shelves.”

 

“I think that would be a bit of a stretch for me.”

 

He gestured for her to go down the stairs, his hand guiding her along the back.  The staircase curved as it went down, a stretch of burgundy carpet running down the steps and pouring out onto the landing below.  He led her across the foyer, accentuated by an intricate design of parquet flooring and into the dining room just as Ginny came out with a steaming bowl of potatoes in her hand.

 

They sat down and heaped their plates.  It wasn’t long before Hermione felt right at home.

 

“I got an owl from the Ministry this afternoon about a job.  So, I’ll head over tomorrow and see what becomes of it.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get it with no problem.”  Harry smiled and stabbed at a piece of steak.  “Have you heard about Ginny’s brilliant discovery?”

 

“No.”  Hermione’s eyes lit up.  “What did you discover?”

 

“Well, I’ve been trying to find a cure for this new nearly virulent strain of bacteria that is affecting pure-bloods.  It seems to have started out as a rather innocuous bacterium and we’re not sure how it mutated into its current form, but it’s pretty nasty.”

 

“Should you be working with this stuff if you’re pure blood yourself?  What if you catch this?”

 

“Oh, I’m careful.  Besides, I’m working with a dead version of the strain.  We’re trying to figure out how it attaches itself to the magical cells in the body.  The stronger those cells, the faster it seems to grow, hence the fact it’s affecting pure-bloods more so than others.”

 

“Has anyone…you know…died from this?”

 

“Not so far, no.  But a few have come close.  We really need to get a handle on this soon before it does take some poor soul.”

 

“What about you, Harry?”  Hermione asked, resting her fork on the plate.  “Overhauled the department yet?”

 

He grinned.  “No, but I’m getting there.”

 

“Oh, don’t be so bashful about it.”  Ginny spoke up immediately and it was clear she was exceedingly proud of her boyfriend.  “He has done wonders over there.  He came up with a whole new interview and hiring procedure and implemented it, _and_ overhauled the training program as well.”

 

“With Ron.”  Harry pointed his fork toward her to emphasize the point.

 

“Yes, with Ron.  I give him credit, too.”

 

“So, how is he?”

 

The crash of silence hit Hermione like a truck.  She was sure that she heard Harry gulp down his last bite of food as Ginny examined the tablecloth rather closely.  Shifting her eyes back and forth, she waited for a response.

 

Finally, Harry cleared his throat and wiped his mouth with the napkin.

 

“He’s great.  Doing a fantastic job as an Auror.  You’d be proud of him.”

 

“I’ve always been proud of him.”

 

“Of course you have.  I just meant…”

 

“Look, you don’t have to tip-toe around in front of me.  It’s alright to talk about him.  He’s still my friend.”

 

Again, she watched as Ginny and Harry exchanged knowing looks.

 

“Is there something I should know?  You two are looking mighty guilty about something.”

 

“No.”  Ginny spoke up.  “Hermione, we don’t mean to act out of sorts…it’s just that Ron went through a bit of a tough time after you left.”

 

“What do you mean?  He never said anything in this letters.  What happened?”

 

“Um…Gin, I’m just going to clear these dishes and make some tea.  You two can talk.”  Harry grabbed a few plates and made for the kitchen faster than you could say _Expelliarmus_.

 

“Ginny, what happened?  Is he alright?”

 

“Yeah, he’s fine, now.  You know Ron; he doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve.  He’s pretty good at brooding so, I’m sure he never let on about any of this to you in his letters.”

 

“What?”

 

“He was really down when you left.  He acted all supportive and chipper, but the day you took off, he locked himself in his flat and we didn’t see him for about four days.  I think he only came out because he got so hungry he couldn’t stand it anymore.”

 

Hermione’s forehead creased as she listened to Ginny’s description.  Ron was fine, wasn’t he?  He encouraged her to go.  They even kissed when she left and he had written her almost immediately.  It had been months before the pace of the letters had dropped off.  She just assumed that he got busy with work and didn’t have time to write.

 

“But, he’s better now,” Ginny continued.

 

Hermione nodded, still trying to absorb this new and startling revelation.  She honestly thought they had parted on really good terms.  She had been looking forward to seeing him again.  In fact, she even tried to distance herself from John in the past month because she was secretly hoping that a reunion with Ron might be in her near future.  The thought struck her that perhaps she was being a bit naïve.  What if he wasn’t interested?  What if…

 

“Ginny, I know I asked before, but are you being straight with me?  Does he have a girlfriend?”

 

“Um…well, he’s been out with some different ladies, but I don’t think it’s serious with any of them.”

 

Harry stuck a tentative head through the doorway and tested out a smile before entering.  He must have thought it was all clear and carried in a tray with tea and a beautiful chocolate cake on a platter.

 

“Oh, my, that looks delicious!”  Ginny chimed in, clearly trying to lift the mood in the room.

 

Hermione had to admit, the dessert did look spectacular and she couldn't help but exude happiness finally seeing her two close friends again.  Still, a part of her wished that Ron could be sitting there with them enjoying his own chocolate cake.


	2. Chapter 2 - Coffee, Tea or Me

 

Not until she arrived did Hermione realize the full importance of the position for which she was about to interview.  Almost more gravity lay with the proximity of that same position to Auror Headquarters and to him.  As she stood in the hallway, gazing at the sign overhead, she couldn’t help the tiny spasms that tingled through her just knowing that she was this close.  The suggestion popped in her head.  She could just take a few steps to the left and see if a familiar head of red hair bobbed above one of the desks.  Could she ask to see him?  Her throat felt dry.  Maybe it was a sign, a premonition of her inability to do so.  

 

“Miss Granger?”

 

The strange voice drew her attention front.  The young woman wore navy robes with a gold triangular insignia on the front.  Her brown hair was slicked back into the short ponytail and she wore no makeup.

 

“Yes?”

 

“My name is Benton.  Please come this way.”

 

Hermione followed the woman into the office and as if on cue, Harry walked through the next door, a file folder in hand.

 

“Hermione!”  He made quick eye contact with Benton and then smiled at Hermione with a question in his eye.  “Is this where you’re interviewing?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Benton, I’ll take Miss Granger back to Lola’s office.”

 

“Very well, sir.”  The young woman strode off leaving them alone in the hallway.

 

“Sir?” Hermione asked, looking somewhat amused.

 

Harry shrugged.  “It comes with the job.”

 

“Are you her supervisor or something?”

 

Harry took her by the elbow and guided them down the passageway.  “I outrank her.”

 

“You sound like this is the military or something.  Since when is there a ranking?”

 

“It was one of the things we instituted when we overhauled the department.  We treat this more like a military-style job.  It promotes respect within the department, provides goals and incentives to the Aurors and keeps the chain of command in tact.”

 

“So, do I have to call you sir?”  She couldn’t help but smile at the prospect.

 

They turned a corner and Harry reached out for the door knob.  “No.  You’re a civilian.  This job is with public and community relations.  I didn’t realize this was the position you were interviewing for.”  He pushed open the door and gestured for her to continue.  “You will work closely with the Aurors, the news media, the D.O.I. and the forensics lab.”

 

“D.O.I.?”

 

“Department of Incarceration.  We’ve added a few more facilities and Azkaban is now only used for the really hard-core dark wizards.  Another change we instituted.  First time offenders aren’t immediately chucked into Azkaban.”

 

An older woman in a brown dress stood and walked around a large wooden desk to greet her.  This must be the Lola woman that Harry had mentioned.  The room itself was small, but neat, law journals and medical books on the walls, certificates and diplomas adorning the walls and two burgundy high back leather chairs flanking the desk.

 

“Miss Granger.  Welcome.”  She offered her hand and Hermione shook it with confidence.  “Please sit down.”

 

Hermione walked over and sat in one of the leather chairs.

 

“My name is Lola Dunkirk.  I am Head of the Department of Incarceration and Probation.  We are so pleased that you were able to come in for an interview today.  I realize that it was short notice.  Have you had a chance to read up on the position’s requirements and responsibilities?”

 

“Some, yes and well, Harry was just explaining…”

 

“Harry?  Oh, do you know each other?”  Lola turned her eyes up to meet Harry’s as he stepped forward unfolding his arms.

 

“I’m sure you’ve heard of her.  Hermione Granger.”

 

“Hermione.”  She repeated the name, still looking at Harry when suddenly the light of recognition clicked on in the woman’s eyes.  “Oh, my good word.  This is _the_ Hermione Granger?   I apologize.  I had down your last name on my appointment book, but I didn’t realize.  Well, in that case, the job is yours if you want it.”

 

“Excuse me?  You haven’t even asked me any questions.”

 

Lola walked back behind her desk.  “Lieutenant Potter.  Is this the woman you want in the job?”

 

Harry’s eyes twinkled and his mouth curled up at the corner.  “It is.”

 

“Then done.”  She reached out a hand to Hermione.  “It’s yours if you want it.”

 

“I…I don’t know what to…I mean, thank you.  Yes, I’ll accept.  I just don’t understand…”

 

“Ms. Granger, or may I call you Hermione?”  Hermione nodded her agreement.  “Lieutenants Potter and Weasley have a lot of sway in this Ministry and we certainly don’t forget your contribution as well.  The three of you…well…it’s in the history books as it should be.  We are grateful and even more so for the outstanding work that Potter and Weasley have done in transforming this office into something solid – something to be proud of.”

 

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at Harry who stood in a sort of parade-rest position, his hands behind his back, that same twinkle evident in his eye and an appreciative grin on his face.  She still couldn’t believe that the job was hers – just like that.  It had only been four years.  How could Harry have this much control already?

 

“I’ll let the lieutenant show you to your new office and I’ll send Ensign Benton around later to bring some required documents and get your security clearance all settled.  There is a weekly staff meeting Wednesdays at nine.  We will introduce you to the staff at that time.”  She picked up a stack of file folders about six inches high off of her desk and walked around to place them in her lap.  “You’ll need to get up to speed on all of the open and recently solved cases.  I’ll expect a weekly one on one with you.  We’ll set a day and time that is convenient.  Lieutenant Weasley is required to approve any release of information from cases marked ‘Priority One’ in that folder.”

 

“Yes, Ma’am.”  Hermione realized she sounded a bit stunned, her reply being more formal than she intended.

 

“Please call me Lola.  I’m not military and I’m not my mother so, please don’t use ma’am.”

 

“Yes, Ma…yes, Lola.  Thank you again.  I’ll get busy with this.”  Hermione stood with the stack of files and turned to Harry who winked at her and opened the door.

 

Harry led her back down the hall and turned into the main room of Auror Headquarters.  A stern looking young man stood at the entrance, wand drawn, his black robes tucked behind a leather belt that housed a knife and several other pouches and sheaths.  Hermione’s eyes grew apprehensively as he took a stiff step to block their way.

 

“She’s with me.”  Harry offered and paused, raising a halting hand to Hermione’s arm.  The man drew his wand parallel to Harry’s body, a sort of blue glow scanning out from the side.  The young man stepped back, apparently satisfied with the outcome of his test and stood at attention, his eyes focused to the front.

 

“Private Whitcomb, this is Ms. Granger.  She is civilian and is our new Director of Public Relations.  We’ll get her security clearance taken care of later today.  She is also my sister in every sense of the word.  Please make her welcome.”

 

“Yes, sir.”  The man turned and extended a hand.  “Ms. Granger, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

 

“And you, Private.”  She shook his hand and he snapped back to the alert stance he had born when she arrived.  Hermione was beyond surprised at the differences she saw in this department.  Even more than the soldierly quality of the environment, the biggest change was the fact that she saw quite a bit of Muggle technology in use.  The wide-screen telly on the wall was broadcasting a Muggle news show and a man was watching it closely and taking notes.  She was certain she heard a cell phone ring and a map with electric lights hung on the wall.

 

“Harry…what is going on here?”

 

“You like it?”  He kept moving between desks, leading the way.  “I convinced Ron that we needed to integrate Muggle technology and Magical tracking to really get the best results.”

 

“You’ve done all this in four years?”

 

Harry opened another door, this one with an empty gold placard holder on the front.

 

“We’ll have to get your name on this door.  Here you go.”

 

Hermione walked in to what she assumed was her new office.  It was smaller than Lola’s, but had a magical window that gave the impression of sunlight, something she truly appreciated.  A bookcase sat by the door, empty, ready for her to fill.  Several more stacks of papers and folders lie on the oak desk.  There was also a telly in her room and a wireless on the credenza behind her desk.

 

“Congratulations.” With the door now closed, Harry seemed to drop his commanding air and instead took the files from her and placed them on the desk.  He turned back and kissed her on the cheek.  “You’ll be great in this job.  God, it’s good to have you back.”

 

She smiled.  “Good to be back and, Harry, thank you.  This is unbelievable.”

 

“You deserve it.  Listen, I have to run, but if you need anything, just stick your head out and ask one of the Aurors.  They’re all great.  You might even recognize some of them.”

 

By ‘them’ Hermione wondered if he was referring to Ron.  She assumed that he must have a desk or an office quite close.  Just that thought sent another flutter through her stomach, but that hopeful reunion would have to wait a few more hours.  Tonight.  Yes, tonight she would stop at his flat and say hello, that is, if she didn’t run into him today.

 

*** 

 

Despite several trips through the office that day, Hermione never saw Ron and so, packing up the files, she pulled out his last letter and noted the address he had listed.  Exiting the Ministry building, she walked to the nearest Apparition point and turned.  The familiar crushing sensation pulled and then released and she found herself standing behind some hedges.  Thinking herself somewhat obvious looking, she removed her robes and quickly shrunk them and placed them in her bag.  The aqua jumper she wore underneath looked much more mainstream.  She peaked out, ensuring the coast was clear and walked up the brick sidewalk.

 

The neighborhood exuded middle-class comfort.  Private homes and flats lined the road, a park spread out across the street.  It wasn’t hard to find the address and she stepped up to the door and pulled the bell.  

 

This was it.  She hadn’t heard from him in over four months, hadn’t seen him in nearly two years.  It seemed it just wasn’t in the cards.  A summer internship for her, undercover missions for him, each time an opportunity arose, time seemed to run interference.  She’d seen his family more frequently than him.  Even Christmas Day, even with writing ahead that she’d come by the Burrow – an emergency pulled Ron and Harry both away for the day.  He’d written a year earlier about the time he went to her parent’s house and caught the tiniest glimpse of her before she had Apparated away.  If she had only known – if the earth had just spun a few seconds slower at that moment, she might not be standing here wondering how he looked.

 

She blinked rapidly, trying to draw his image clearly to the forefront of her mind.  Ginny’s words from the previous night struck her like a stone wedged into her gut.  How could she have known that he would be so upset when she left?  What would he say now?  How would he react?  Again, she pictured that mop of red hair, but what she actually saw was blond.

 

“Can I help you?”

 

The young woman was very tall, wearing a lavender dress with an apron tied around her waist.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry…is this…” Hermione checked the slip of paper in her hand once again “Chester Heights Four?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I’m here to see Ronald Weasley.”

 

“He isn’t home at the moment.  Can I take a message?”

 

_A message_.  This scene had played itself out numerous times in her recent memory, every reaction and even his absence, but she had never thought to rehearse leaving a message.  She never expected to see anyone besides Ron or an unopened door.  What message would she leave?  How could she express all the emotions that had built up within her?

 

“Um…when…I mean, will he be home soon?” she stammered, still trying to figure out her next move.

 

“Well, dinner is almost ready and knowing how much he likes his meals, I would imagine he’ll be here quite soon.”  The lady glanced over her shoulder.  “I’m sorry, I have to get back to the stove before dinner burns.”

 

“Oh, yes, please do.  I’m sorry to keep you.  I’ll stop by again, thank you.”

 

The door closed in her face and she jerked one tiny step back.

 

_Well, that certainly was unexpected._

 

Suddenly she felt quite stupid for standing on this stoop, staring at a closed door like the village solicitor.  Ginny must have been mistaken, Ron obviously had a girlfriend.  Maybe more.  She was making dinner at his flat.  Her stomach twisted and made a subtle gurgling noise.  Any other time Hermione would have just thought it hunger pangs, but this was so much more substantial, more true – this was a myriad of hopes, dreams and memories falling into the acrid wasteland.  They were ruined.

 

*** 

 

Ron arrived at his usual spot.  His mood was considerably lighter than the day before.  Things had gone well today.  Of course, he had been out of the confines of the Ministry all day and being away from the paperwork always brightened his spirits.  Still, the arrival and departure spot was so ritualistic in nature that he didn’t even think to Floo or Apparate directly to the flat.

 

Just as in the day before, he followed his route and just as the day before the joggers moved through the park and the children played.  Somehow remembering the previous day’s vision, he looked to the park bench, but she wasn’t there.  It was foolish and he knew it.  Why did he even dare to dream of her?

 

The sidewalk curved a block before his flat and he started to whistle, feeling quite pleased with himself and looking forward to a night at the pub with Harry.  His best mate had left him a note explaining he had a surprise and to meet him at the pub around six.  It was a bit after five and Ron wanted to grab a shower before he headed out.

 

He looked up and saw someone exiting his gate.  It was a girl with an aqua jumper and long brown hair.  She began to walk in the opposite direction.  He closed his eyes for a minute, shaking his head to remove the vision.

 

  _That girl on the bench must have really got to you._  

 

When he opened his eyes she was gone.  He quickly scanned the park, the side of the road, the other homes – just to make sure.  Being a wizard, he understood the ability to Apparate and yet, this time he felt oddly content with believing his own insecurities were playing tricks with his eyes.

 

“Ron, you really need to write her a letter.”

 

Somehow saying it out loud, made the task seem more urgent and he set his mind to do it as soon as he returned from the pub.

 

  _Don’t drink yourself under the table tonight.  You have a letter to compose._  

 

He pushed open the door as usual, toeing off his shoes at the entrance and reached over his head to pull off his black t-shirt.  He was set to hit the showers when a waft of beef and carrots lilted under his nose.

 

“What the hell?”

 

He walked into the kitchen, shirt in hand and found Diane at the stove, barefoot and wearing the thinnest lavender dress ever made.  He could see right through it as evidenced by the fact that she clearly wasn’t wearing any knickers.  She turned and his view of anything more wanton was blocked by the white apron hanging from her waist.  His eyes met hers with an inquisitive stare.

 

“I made dinner.”  She smiled innocently.

 

“I see that.”

 

“We can eat in about ten minutes and then I thought perhaps we could take a walk.”

 

“Um…Diane…I sort of have plans for tonight.  I wish you would have asked before doing all this.”

 

“Oh.”  Her smiled slipped.  “Well, you have to eat, right?  I’ll just put it out and then you can go after dinner.”

 

“I’m just going to grab a quick shower.”

 

As he stood under the spray, all those good feelings from the day seemed to vanish.  Now he had to deal with a clingy woman.  Of course, the food smelled fantastic and he was hungry, but that was beside the point.

 

  _I never should have given her the address.  It was a moment of weakness._  

 

He washed quickly, toweled himself off and slipped on a clean shirt and some jeans.  He was going to have to pull in the reigns a bit with this girl.  If he let things continue as they had, she’d be moving in permanently before long.  That wouldn’t be fair to either of them.  Without a real plan, he entered the dining area, now sporting two lit candles and a bottle of wine as well.

 

“Why don’t you pour the wine, Ronald?”  She requested, spooning up the carrots onto his plate.

 

“I prefer Ron, if you don’t mind.”

 

“Oh, sure.  I don’t have one of those names that you can really shorten, so I guess I’ve never had to contend with that issue.  I’ve heard that many people don’t like being called the long version of their names because it reminds them of getting chewed out by their parents when they were young.  Is that your issue?”

 

She licked the end of her thumb, rather seductively if you asked him, slowly untied the apron and stood by her chair.  She raised an eyebrow in a rather annoying attempt to get him to pull the chair out for her.

 

  _Just do it Ron.  Eat and then you can go._   

 

It was more of a yank, but he pulled the chair back for her to sit and then took his own seat.  Popping the cork on the wine, Diane’s glass grew full before the bottle slipped back in the cooler.  He felt as if he were locked in a scene of domesticated bliss out of some old Muggle television show.  He’d seen a few at Harry’s house.  The woman serving dinner while wearing a pearl necklace.  The man in his suit, thumbing through the post and scrutinizing the children’s homework habits.  All Ron could do was plan for a quick exit.

 

“Aren’t you having any wine, dear?”

 

  _What the hell? Next thing she’s going to ask how was my day at the office!_

 

“No.”  Ron stabbed a piece of meat and shoveled it in.  This might be a record setting meal if he could keep up the pace.

 

“How was your day at the office?”

 

_Bloody hell, woman!_

 

“Fine,” he answered curtly between chews.

 

“So you didn’t answer my question.  Why don’t you like Ronald?”

 

He crammed in the potatoes.  If his mouth was full, he couldn’t very well talk, could he?  It solved both his problems.  An empty stomach and a need for conversation.  Perfect.  Besides, everyone knew that his mother and Hermione were the only ones that called him Ronald and he liked it that way.

 

“My parents would like to meet you.  I was thinking that perhaps this weekend…”

 

Ron chewed quickly and tried to swallow an enormous mouthful.  “Diane, I have plans for this weekend.”  _Thank God_.  He quickly tossed in the obligatory.  “I’m sorry.”

 

“Oh.  Well, perhaps next weekend.  Look, Ronald…I need to know something.  Are you cheating on me?”

 

Ron nearly choked, a sputter of potatoes spraying the edge of his plate.  He gripped his water and took several hefty gulps to wash down his conversational blockage.

 

“What?  Cheating on you?”

 

It was totally absurd.  There was nothing between them to cheat _on_.  They’d been on all of three dates, well four if you counted that group outing.  Immediately he regretted their intimate encounter from the previous day.  He shouldn’t have let that happen.  At least he stopped it before it went too far.  Now, she had her claws in him and he would have to suffer the consequences.

 

“Well, this woman came to the door a little while ago asking for you.  I don’t recognize her.”

 

“Diane, you obviously don’t know all of my friends and family.  What did she look like?”

 

Diane arched an eyebrow, took a slow sip of wine and set her fork down.  “Short, rather matronly with an impossible head of bushy brown hair.  My god, it was everywhere!  She’s certainly not a relative.”

 

Ron’s heart skipped a beat. “Was she wearing a sort of light blue jumper?”

 

“Yes.  See, you know her, don’t you?” she pouted accusingly.

 

His mind raced.  The heart that had just skipped a beat, was now flailing wildly in his chest.  Could it have really been her?

 

“What did she say?” he asked rather forcefully.

 

“She just wanted to see you, but I told her you weren’t home yet and asked if I could take a message.”

 

“And?”  By this point, Ron was waving his fork and Diane countered back.

 

“And nothing.  She left.  So, who is this girl?  Are you seeing her?”

 

It was tempting to just say yes and have it out, but he bit his tongue.

 

“No.  She’s a friend.  Are you sure she didn’t tell you where she’s staying or how to contact her?”

 

“Nope.”

 

Ron’s thoughts took a whole different course as he bit off the corner of a roll.  Diane seemed content, her worries put to rest, but Ron had a whole new set of concerns to play with.

 

She daintily dabbed the corners of her mouth with the napkin, draped it beside her plate and stood up.  Ron just kept poking and chewing, determined to finish the food and get out.  He had to talk to Harry and then he had to find her.  

 

He should have been paying better attention to his present situation.  He could have slowed things down, but Diane had already drawn her dress over her head and was attempting to straddle his lap, not a scrap of clothing on her.

 

“Whoa.  What are you doing?” he asked, dropping his fork as her bare thigh brushed over his leg.

 

She licked her lips.  “Just giving you your dessert.”

 

Her naked breasts pressed against his shirt and she intentionally ground her hips into his lap.  Ron struggled to find a place to put his hands.  Anywhere except on her naked body.  With so much on his mind, he just wasn’t in the mood, at least not in the mood for a pushy blond that burst into baby talk every now and then, calling him Mr. Yummy.  

 

He didn’t have time for this; he was supposed to meet Harry in ten minutes.  He was desperate to meet Harry.  But right now, he had to deal with an insistent little flirt – a quite naked little flirt whose thighs were clamping around his hips.  Ron hadn’t dated many women, but he had to say that this one took the cake in the aggressiveness department.

 

“I thought we could try and finish what we started last night.”  Her fingers were already on the second button of his shirt.  Ron’s body was reacting despite his disinterest in her attentions.  Certain parts of his anatomy had a mind of its own.

 

“Look, Diane, I’m sorry about that.  I didn’t mean to pull away…I mean.”  He exhaled in exasperation, trying to explain emotions that really had no basis in fact.  Again, she rocked against him and he nearly cried out at the unintentional swell growing in his trousers.  “Diane, stop.  Please, stop.”

 

  _Oh my God, she’s pouting.  I don’t believe it._  

 

“What’s the matter, aren’t I beautiful enough for you?”  Ron gripped the side of the chair, trying to keep his hands clear.  However, Diane now had several buttons undone and was stroking her fingertips over his chest.  “If you don’t like my mouth on you, I can try other things.”  She winked and Ron felt his stomach sink.

 

“It’s not that…”

 

“Touch me.  It’s alright.”  She slid her hand down his chest, brushing over his abs and the chair jerked involuntarily along with his legs.

 

“Diane, I just had a really long day and…”

 

“What, isn’t my little Ronnie up for it tonight?”  She accentuated the ‘up’ by suddenly grabbing his crotch and Ron reacted instinctively.  He didn’t mean to hurt her, but as he bolted upright, the chair toppled over and she flew backwards onto the table, landing flat on her back, her hair sunk into the bowl of mashed potatoes, a rainbow of carrots and gravy sloshing over the table.

 

“Fuck!  Shit, piss and bloody hell!  I’m sorry.  Fuck!”

 

Diane lay there looking winded and wide-eyed, a trickle of gravy sliding down her thigh as a carrot rolled off the table.  Ron pulled out his wand, not sure what to do first.

 

“Are you hurt?  Can you move?”

 

He vanished the dishes, all except for the bowl which currently cradled her head.  She trembled as she rose up onto her elbows and the bowl plopped loose, falling to the table, her hair coated in a thick layer of mashed potatoes.

 

“Here, let me help.”  He reached an arm under her waist and lifted her as carefully as he could from the table, back to her feet.   Her knees didn’t seem to hold her and he kept an arm around her for a moment.  Annoyance aside, he truly felt bad and didn’t want to see her hurt.

 

“I apologize.  You just startled me and…are you alright?”

 

She just stood vibrating in his arms, her lip began to quiver and then the tears started to flow.

 

“I just wanted to make you dinner.”  There she went.  He had a naked woman, coated in potatoes and gravy, crying in his arms and to top it off another carrot just came unstuck from her back and hit the carpet.  He couldn’t feel like more of a louse if he tried.  Part of him wanted to make it up to her, but another part just wished she’d get the message and move on.

 

“I know.  I’m sorry.  It was a lovely dinner and I appreciate it.”  He stroked her arms, withdrawing a sheen of gravy.  “Please don’t cry.  Why don’t you use my shower and get cleaned up and I’ll take care of this.”  He truly wanted to leave, but something told him that it wouldn’t be wise.  “When you come back, we can relax for a while, alright?”  Ron waved his wand at the carpet of carrots and roast beef that dotted the landscape.  He couldn’t just leave her in this state, how inconsiderate could he be?

 

He watched her wobble rather shakily down the hall toward his bedroom and paused to rake a hand over his head. 

 

“What the hell are you doing, Ron?”

 

*** 

 

Hermione arrived at her flat, her thoughts turned inward to such an extent that she was wholly unaware of how she got there.  Brief images of sidewalks, offices and busy pedestrians blurred into a span of twenty minutes as she closed the door.  It wasn’t clear why she didn’t just Apparate, but thinking back, it was probably wise she didn’t.  In her state of mind, who knows how badly she might get splinched?  Then, as if one surprise per day were far too little, she found herself facing a set of deep brown eyes that she thought she had left behind.  

 

“Surprise!” he opened his arms towards her.

 

“John.  How…when…”

 

“I know, it’s a shock seeing me, but well, my cousin contacted me and he suggested we move back to London.  He’ll be meeting me in a couple of weeks, I think.”

 

“So you just up and move?”

 

“I thought you’d be happy to see me.”  His tone became smooth as he approached and slid an arm around her waist.

 

“I am…” she smiled, still trying to calm the furious beating in her heart.

 

He drew her tightly toward him and pressed his lips to her neck.  It was his signature move.  Other than their first kiss, which honestly was more like a peck, John’s kisses always put him out of her view.  They were nice kisses – soft and sweet.  Hermione often berated herself for comparing them to others, but she had to admit that she often replaced him in her thoughts with a tall red-head she had missed.

 

“John…”

 

He kept kissing, wrapping his arms around her back, his layered brown hair tickling her cheek as he slid down to the hollow of her throat.

 

“I missed you, baby.”  His smooth palm stroked over her bicep and she flinched as he pressed the bruise she had acquired a week earlier.  He must have noticed.  “I’m sorry, baby, does that bruise still hurt?”

 

“A bit.”  She gently pulled away, protectively tracing the sore spot and heading toward a box that still needed to be opened.  She knew he felt bad about the accident and she didn’t mean to be so cold toward him, but somehow she just felt odd about the whole situation.

 

His already deep voice nudged a bit lower.  “It was my fault.  I’m sorry I pushed so hard.  I didn’t mean to.  Can’t you just do your magic thing and make it all better?”

 

“I did, but some of it has to heal the old fashioned way.”

 

“So, besides healing things and vanishing stuff, what else can you do?”  She noticed the swift change in topic – clearly his attempt to make her relax.

 

She pulled on the box lid, but it was taped shut.  “Lots of things.”  Finally, in frustration, she pulled out her wand and cut the tape.  “I could slice your arm off or tickle a baby.  It just depends on the level of magic and training.”  Somehow expounding on her dangerous abilities gave her a great deal of satisfaction, but she wasn’t sure why.

 

“Have you ever hurt anyone with that thing?” He asked, lifting up a box and examining the sides for a label.

 

She looked at him.  It wasn’t something she really liked to admit and especially not to someone who didn’t understand her history and the conditions under which she used such lethal magic.  However, she didn’t want to lie either.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Seriously?”  He didn’t look concerned, just mildly curious and that thought alone rubbed her wrong.

 

“Yes, John.  Look, it’s a long story and you’d have to hear the whole thing to understand.”  She began pulling books out of the box.

 

“It’s alright.  I’m sure you had a perfectly good reason.  Self defense and all, right?”

 

“Something like that, yes.”

 

He walked up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist.  “Hermione, stop for a minute.”  She turned in his arms to face him.  “Is this alright?  I know it’s unexpected, me being here and all, but I thought we were getting on really well.”

 

“We were.”

 

“Were?”  He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles.  “Or are?”

 

He glanced up at her, through a curtain of dark lashes.  The wide black pupils held a real sense of dark, lustful craving and maybe even a hint of danger.  Even if she wanted to turn him down, something told her it was best not to do so. 

 

“No, we are.  Of course.  I like you, John.  I’m just surprised to see you here.  I thought you were going back to see your parents and all that.”

 

He smiled and she was sure that his eyes lightened three shades, back to the chestnut brown she knew.  “I was, but like I said, I heard from my cousin.  We haven’t seen each other in years and he said he’ll be returning to London soon.  I thought I could see you while I waited for him.”  He studied her for a moment and Hermione knew that the passive face she was trying to display was etched with definite unease.  “Don’t you _want_ to see me?”  He emphasized the point with a gentle squeeze against her back.

 

His features fell soft and Hermione’s shoulders drooped as if looking into the biggest set of puppy-dog eyes she had ever seen.  When he wanted to be, he could exude a level of charm that could melt the bones out of any girl receiving his attention.  She did like him.  Otherwise, she wouldn’t have dated him, but as she got to know him better – a timeline that also shared the countdown to her return to London – the excited feelings she had initially felt began to dwindle.

 

“It’s not that, John.  I…I…” His eyes flashed for a second, just hint of the other side of him, the uncharming side, the slightly irritated side that Hermione noticed, but had so far chosen to overlook.  Still, seeing that tremor in the air, that briefest of fluctuation in his psyche gave her the desire to speak up.  “I just need some time to figure some things out and I don’t think I’d be very good company right now.”

 

There, she said it.  Her shoulders lifted as she inhaled like the weight of that statement had been holding them down.

 

“Sure.  I understand.”  He let her go and stepped back, his face still steady and unemotional and yet there was this timber in this voice that made the hair rise on the back of her neck.  She wasn’t sure why.  Did she hurt his feelings?  He seemed like a truly decent man.  He had never been anything but a gentleman toward her – well, except for the accident, he was witty and fun and yet those eyes – they always seemed to shine just a bit too intensely, like they had an extra covering of glass that was there to reflect the goodness of others and withhold some dark secret beneath.

 

“So, do you want some help getting unpacked?”  He put his hands on his slender denim-clad hips and smiled encouragingly.

 

“I guess.”  Hermione blinked for a second, brushing aside the strange feelings.  She was obviously too enveloped in thoughts of her encounter with Ron’s cook du jour and it was seeping out into the rest of her life.

 

John grabbed another box, pulled out a pocket knife and cut the tape.  “So, is it alright with you if I crash here tonight?”  Hermione couldn’t help the shocked expression and he must have noticed as well.  Hadn’t she just said that she needed some time alone?  Then another thought crossed her mind.  

 

“John, I really appreciate you lending me the money for the security deposit on this place.  I promise I’ll pay you back next week.  It just made itself available on such short notice and…”

 

He grinned and opened the box casually, as if nothing were usual.  “No problem, babe.  I know you’re good for it.  Besides, it wasn’t much.  I’ll look for a place tomorrow.  This is just short-term, I promise.  I have no intention of pushing myself in.  I told you, my cousin will be back in town soon and I’ll move in with him.”

 

“Short-term.”  She repeated his promise back to him, weighing the length of that phrase with the aura of friendliness that he seemed to radiate.  She hoped that her tone added a bit of innuendo that should it become anything else, she would be quite displeased.  Her motivation for employment tripled in that one second, for she hated the idea of being in debt to him for anything.  If her parents hadn’t been out of touch, she would have asked them for the deposit money.  Three months of dating certainly didn’t warrant a new living arrangement and besides, Hermione’s thoughts were occupied by some very mixed up feelings that left no room for live-in, short-term boyfriends.

 

“Absolutely.”  He grinned, waving his hand as if to imply some sort of honor code would hold him true to his word.  She also knew that John had just the slightest bit of discomfort at his knowledge of her magical abilities.  That alone gave her the confidence to handle even his sleekest of hooks.  She brushed her hand against the wand tucked neatly in her pocket, her one edge, her clearest gift of choice and exhaled with a bit of reluctance.  “If you can clear the sofa, you’re welcome to it.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

*** 

 

Hermione met Harry for lunch the next day.  The Ministry canteen was quite full, but they found a little spot at a table along the wall.

 

“So, how was your first day?”  Harry asked.

 

“A little overwhelming, but all new jobs are like that.  I’m sure I’ll love it once I get settled.”

 

“Well, I hate to dump this on you when you’re so new, but I need to ask a favor.”

 

“Shoot.”  She took a bite of her turkey sandwich.

 

“I’m supposed to go to this ceremony in Budapest tomorrow and I just can’t get away.  I was wondering if you could go in my stead.”

 

“Ceremony for what?”

 

“It’s been four years and people are still dedicating things to me.  To us.  Have you seen the ‘Tribut de Magia Enoi’ at the Italian Ministry?  My god, I’m ten feet tall!  Anyway, you just have to represent the ‘Trio’ and smile for some photos, sign some autographs, all that stuff.”

 

“I suppose I could go.  You’ve had to suffer through enough of these, I guess I’m due.”  She smiled.

 

“That would be great.”  He rolled his eyes in relief.  “Thanks, Hermione.”

 

“How about you come over and help me unpack as repayment?  I’ve only managed to unload some books and put my bed together.”

 

*** 

 

Lunch hour had arrived.  Ron’s stomach worked better than a clock when it came to meal times.  He headed to the Ministry canteen.  There wasn’t much time.  He had to escort a prisoner to Azkaban at twelve and it was already eleven thirty.  He’d just have time to grab a sandwich and run.  He really wanted some time with Harry to explain about the previous night.  He’d sent an owl with a message that he couldn’t come, but he needed to unload.

  _Guess it will have to wait until tomorrow._  

As he stepped through the doors, he heard a familiar voice and just caught Harry’s profile at a table along the wall.  He was only a few feet away.  But then another voice joined the conversation, a voice Ron knew all too well, but one that had been absent from his ears for years now.

 

“Isn’t John helping?”  Harry asked.

 

Ron stopped in his tracks, still hidden just feet from his friends, his ears perking up immediately.

 

“Yes.”  Hermione chuckled.  “I can’t believe he actually made the trip all the way out here.  He said he wanted to surprise me.  We had to unbox a bunch of books to clear the sofa just for a place to sleep last night.  Not much else is set up.”

 

She sounded so happy and Ron’s throat dried up as if he’d just swallowed a box full of cotton balls.

 

Harry continued.  “So, how long have you two been…?”  
  


“About three months now.”  Hermione cut him off before Harry had said the words.  

 Ron felt a flutter of something akin to panic.  _Been what?  Dating?  Living Together?  Shagging?_  

Ron rolled his back against the wall, his heart thudding right through his spine and into the plaster.  _In love?_

 

His thoughts flashed to the woman in the aqua jumper.  That had to have been her the previous night, at his door.  Was she coming to say goodbye?  To invite him to the wedding?  To rub it in his face – that he should have gone along with her.  It was his own fault for not agreeing to accompany her abroad.  He could have found work.  Could have come back to the Ministry a couple of years later.  It was her idea that he stay.  Maybe she wanted to get away or maybe he was just too much of a coward to stop her.

  _Get a grip, Ron.  Say hello for fuck sake!_  

He blew out a breath and took the last couple of steps to round the wall.  There she was.  That glorious bundle of brown hair, shoved up into a messy bun on the back of her head, the neatly pressed navy robes.  He realized he was gawking at her and muttered out a “Hi.”

 

“Oh, my god!”  Hermione jumped from her chair.  Maybe his brain had entered some time warp, but things seemed to move in slow motion.  It felt like they stared at each other for nearly five minutes, but it had to have been only seconds.  She walked toward him, her body pulsing forward and back as if deciding on whether it was proper to give him a hug.  Ron’s arms dangled uselessly at this sides and he finally closed his mouth, not sure how long it had hung open.  He saw her lips finally move and struggled to put the words back into regular motion.

 

“I was wondering when we were going to see you.”  Her smile was true and inviting.

 

She rose up on tip-toes and pecked his cheek and Ron thought Pompeii had erupted in his chest; the heat that spread over his skin was strong enough to melt diamonds!

 

“Are you alright?  You look rather flushed.”

 

“Um…yeah…um…it’s hot in here.”  Ron stammered.

 

“Can you join us for lunch?” she asked, gesturing to the extra chair.

 

Ron looked over at the bowl of raw carrots on her tray.  All thoughts of this other man flew right out of his path.  The doubts that had swirled within him only second before took a back seat.  Ron couldn’t help it.  The image that seared his brain was irresistible.  Hermione lay naked on his dining room table, brown gravy dripping down her thighs as she licked a layer of fudge off her index finger.  Ron crawled up onto the table, slipping in the sauce and trailed his tongue over the inside of her thigh.

 

“Ron?”

 

He jerked, blinking the vision away. “What?”

 

“Care to join us for lunch?” she asked, her eyes looking slightly perplexed.

 

Ron swallowed hard and for a moment was sure it had tasted of beef and fudge.

  _What the hell is wrong with you?_  

“Oh, um…no.  I have a prisoner transport in about ten minutes so um…I’m just going to grab some um….food and then I have to run.”

 

“Oh.  Well, I guess I’ll see you tonight then?”  Hope flashed in her eyes.

 

“Tonight?”

 

“Your mum invited me for dinner.  Are you going to be there?”  Her eyes looked rank with anticipation and just a subtle hint of planned disappointment.

 

“If I get back in time, yes.”

  _You idiot.  You’ll be back in time, you know you will._  

“Great.  I’ll see you then?” she asked, look expectantly at Ron.

 

Ron nodded.  It was the best he could do at the moment.  If this hadn’t been the biggest kick in the gut week of all time, he didn’t know what was.  So many emotions, so many thoughts rushed through him.  How could he tell her how he felt?  He couldn’t just blurt out right here in the canteen how much he had missed her, he ached for her, especially not with the revelation that some git named John was in the picture.  He always knew that if he let her go, she’d get snatched by some bloke all too quickly.  His own ineptitude infuriated him and he felt a fist start to form.

 

“Ron, you had better go.”  Harry pointed at his watch.

 

Drawing in a deep breath, he relaxed his hand.  “Yeah, I had better go.  We’ll talk on tonight then, right?  He hesitated for a second, but as she leaned forward, he bent down and returned the peck on her cheek.  It felt odd, much too reserved and not at all what he wanted to do and yet, his lips would tingle for hours from that brief touch.


	3. Chapter 3 - Intimate Inmates

The inmate was enjoying his first week out of the treatment room and was finally allowed in the general population.  It had been months and he was getting his first taste of fresh air and company.  At least he wasn’t suffering the Dementors on a regular basis.  Even being locked in a padded room had its benefits.  Besides, he had them fooled.

 

 

  _Dissociative Identity Disorder with a side of Magically induced Dementia._  

 

He grinned at the diagnosis.  Whatever it was, it had kept him out of prison, magical or otherwise.  Eagerly, he scanned the room, hoping to find a familiar face, someone who could give him news of the world.  The staff certainly didn’t.  He got daily ‘therapy’ but no news, and that was what he wanted.  The main rec room was full of tables, people playing cards, writing letters, several hunched around a wireless radio and few who opted to only rock in place.  He wove through the tables, looking for that face or at the very least, something to occupy himself.

 

Then he saw it.  A newspaper.  It sat in front of a man who seemed content to just study the tabletop.  No one was watching.  He quickly grabbed the paper, folded it and slipped it into the waistband of his trousers and pulled his smock over the top.  Then, with as much casualness as he could scrape together, he wandered back to his room.  Technically, he wasn’t allowed to have such items in his room, but he didn’t like being watched as he read.  

 

Once inside, he quickly withdrew the newsprint and spread it open on his bed.  There was no way of knowing how long he’d have to read it and so he quickly scanned the articles.  It was apparent that this was a magical paper.  The pictures moved and the references in the very first headline made it clear.  The European Union of Magic was meeting two days hence to consider a plan to establish a comprehensive medical spells training program.  A young boy in Germany was being honored for saving his grandmother with some rather advanced spell work.  Three candidates had announced they were running for Spanish Prime Minister of Magic.  For a detailed bio, go to page four. 

 

He flipped the page, checking the doorway.  He wasn’t allowed to close the door.  That would alert the staff and would be the end of his reading.  The weather would be cloudy tomorrow; two newts had been rescued from an illegal potions lab.  It was all junk, but at least it was news.  He flipped it again and saw a photo.  The face made him swallow back a rush of loathing as he read the article aloud.

 

“Harry Potter will be making an appearance at the unveiling of the ‘Forever Light’ memorial recently completed in Budapest.  The large granite sculpture was commissioned by the Hungarian government in tribute to the Boy Who Lived and sculpted by the great Horatio Bulgini.  The ceremony is scheduled to begin at noon next Thursday.”

 

The plan developed in a flash.  It was immediate – insanely grown as was the owner - and wholly satisfying for a person with a huge chip on his shoulder.  Thursday.  That only gave him a week to escape, find a wand and travel to Budapest.  He heard footsteps and quickly folded the paper, stuffing it back down his trousers.  He walked slowly toward his door, following the commotion that was building in the hall.

 

He heard wheels and poked his head out of the doorway.  Three staff members were rushing along side a gurney.  It rolled closer and finally he could see a young boy, looking pale and immobile on the bed.  He followed their hurried path down the hall and noted that they were heading into examination room seven.  He glanced back to the right.  It appeared several inmates had been spurred to action by the noise and the staff was quite occupied with them at the moment.  Curiosity prompted him to check the hall once more and he walked across to examination room six, slipping into the room quietly.  There were doors between the rooms and he moved as close as he dared, trying to listen to the ongoing conversation from the adjoining space.

 

“His vitals are steady, but he’s grown increasingly weak in the past few days.  They’ve checked him over and can find nothing physically wrong.  So, they just assume this is a psychological problem.”

 

Another male voice piped in.  “Try a reversal spell.”

 

The female voice came back.  “They already tried that.”

 

“What about Cruciatus damage?”

 

“It could be, but that doesn’t explain the other symptoms.  His hair is falling out.  His body temperature fluctuates hourly, extreme to extreme.  He told us his vision was failing before he lost consciousness.”

 

“His vision?  Oh, my god.  Could it be?”

 

“What?”

 

“Could he have been stripped?”

 

“Extirpated?  Is that still possible?  No one uses that spell anymore.  It was outlawed under penalty of death.  The books were even burned.”

 

“Well, it appears someone has used it.  All the symptoms fit.  I haven’t seen a case in over twenty years.  Remember that one where the wizard stripped three before they caught him?  It was in France, right?”

 

“I think so.  They gave him to the Dementors, didn’t they?”  It was silent for a moment.  “What do we do for him?”

 

“There isn’t much we can do.  His magic is gone.”

 

“He has to have something left.  He’d have died if he didn’t.  How can we test for it?”

 

“God, I don’t know.  I’ll have to go do some research.  Let’s just do our best to keep him stable in here.  Put him on a constant watch.”

 

Well, this was interesting.  The inmate listened as the woman left the exam room and passed by him in the hall.  He heard the man doing something in the room and checked that the coast was clear before stepping back to his own cell.

 

“Harry Potter without his magic.  Now doesn’t that sound appealing?”  he snickered to himself.  He’d have to find out more about this stripping technique.  It sounded very promising.

 

*** 

 

Hermione arrived at the Burrow that evening and was almost immediately swamped by several sets of arms.  Harry and Ginny, each holding a glass, just smiled at the onslaught.  Molly had to comment at least twice on her apparent lack of weight, even though she had actually put on a few pounds.  George looked really good and was quite sweet in his greeting, kissing her on the cheek and giving a warm hug.  Of course, the jokes started flowing not long after.

 

Ginny sidled up to her with a drink in hand.

 

“Thanks, Gin.  Gee whiz, I wasn’t expecting such a response.”

 

“Well, you have been gone for a while.  Did you think we wouldn’t miss you?”

 

“No, of course, but you did just see me at Christmas.”  

 

“Not all of us.”  Ginny gave a knowing look and Hermione recognized the unspoken mention of a certain Weasley who had been on a mission over Christmas and it forced the obvious question from Hermione’s throat.

 

“So, is Ron here?”

 

“Not yet.  We’re expecting him.”  Ginny tilted her gaze, a question in her eyes.  “Have you two talked since you came back?”

 

“Didn’t Harry tell you?  I saw him at lunch today.”

 

“That’s not what I meant.  ‘Hi, how are you’ is not a talk.”

 

Hermione sipped her drink.  “No, we haven’t had a chance.”  She grabbed Ginny by the arm, turning her away from the crowd.  “Gin, you should have been more straight with me.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You said he didn’t have any girlfriends, well, not steady ones.”

 

“He doesn’t.”

 

“Then explain the girl in his flat cooking him dinner and looking like she was planning to be dessert.”

 

“Who?”  Ginny’s eyes flashed.  It was clear that this was news to her.

 

“I don’t know.  Some tall blond wearing a dress made of tissue paper.”

 

“Honestly, Hermione, I didn’t know about her.  He’s never said anything.  Besides…” she winked “you have a boyfriend.  Why would it matter to you?  Do I detect a hint of jealousy?”  Ginny couldn’t help the smile that infused her face.

 

But before Hermione could respond, the object of their discussion made an appearance.  The crack drew their attention to the other room and within seconds, Ron strode through the door.  He saw Harry and walked over to say hello, but quickly scanned the room.

 

When their eyes met, Hermione could only hear her own breathing.  It rushed through her head like a maelstrom.  He didn’t smile, but those eyes – those gloriously blue eyes just watched her for a second until his mother called everyone to dinner.

 

Hermione sat beside Harry toward the end of the table, with Ron across and one seat over.  Despite her longing to be near him, she felt it best to ease back into a comfort zone.  The conversation started almost immediately.  She was barraged with questions.  How was the graduation ceremony?  Did she like living abroad?  What were her plans for employment?

 

Hermione answered with a smile, enjoying the feeling of family that she had missed so much.  Then Harry dropped the news of the day.

 

“Hermione is our new Director of Public Relations.”

 

“What?”  Molly asked.  “Well, congratulations!  Oh, my goodness, that’s fantastic news!”  The table all started offering their well wishes, all except for Ron who had stopped, fork in mid-air and was staring at her.  Hermione kept his gaze, swallowing hard – it might have been chicken, or perhaps a piece of hope or a large slice of apprehension.  Either way, it took all her energy to finally look away.

 

“You’ll be working with Ron and Harry then, won’t you?”  Ginny asked, shooting a smile back to her youngest brother.  Ron saw her and offered back a flat grin, his eyes shifting nervously between his sister, his plate and Hermione’s face.

 

“Um…yes, as I understand it, Ron has to approve any releases on Priority One data.  Is that correct, Ron?”

 

He quickly cleared his throat and wiped his mouth with the napkin in his lap.  “Yes, that’s correct.”

 

“Yes, I’m so proud of our Ronnie.  Him and Harry both.”  Molly smiled and went back to poking some green beans.  “They’ve done such a remarkable job in the department.”

 

“So, I’ve heard.”  She smiled at Molly, but shot Ron another look which he met for a brief second.

 

Then, as if the moment required a bit of levity, George jumped in to stir the pot, as usual.  “So, Hermione, how’s everything in the ‘ole love life?  Pretty little bird like you, you’ve probably been through a hundred blokes by now.”  He looked around the table with a smirk as if they were all in on the joke – obviously they weren’t.

 

“Not quite, George.”

 

“Alright, well ninety-nine then?”  He wagged his eyebrows and poked an elbow into Bill’s side, who up until now had been pretty quiet.

 

“George.”  It was a warning from his big brother, but George didn’t seem to take the hint and kept at it.

 

“Well, anyway, you’ve probably got a ways to go if you want to keep up with our little Ronnie-kins.  He’s on a round trip around the calendar. What, are you on Miss July now?”

 

Ron raised his eyes, jaw tense enough to snap the fork in half and Hermione was pretty sure that fire was about to shoot forth at his brother, the glare was so intense.

 

“What?” George defended, his eyes smiling around the table.  “She’s tall, blond and has a rather nice set of tits.  She had to have been on a calendar somewhere!”

 

“George!  That talk is vulgar and I will not have it at my dinner table!”  Molly did a much better job of silencing her son than either of his brothers.  George pursed his lips and turned his head back down to his food.  Hermione was sure she heard Bill cut in with.  “Told you to shut up.”

 

Hermione thought that perhaps the whole discussion of boyfriends and girlfriends would now end, but unfortunately Molly had to inquire.

 

“I’m sure she’s a very nice girl, isn’t she, Ronnie?”

 

“Yes, Mum,” he answered bluntly, shoveling in another mouthful and clearly wishing a bowl of poisonous slugs would invade his brother’s plate.

 

“Hermione, what about you?  Have you met any nice young men while you were away?”  Molly continued, her voice forcing joviality into the air.  It was evident Molly had no idea of the serious sore spot she was jabbing.

 

Hermione looked to Harry, the only person that really knew anything about John.  In that moment they shared a whole discussion on the value of imparting this information on the Weasley family.  Harry’s expression seemed to read ‘well, they’ll find out soon enough’ and Hermione turned her gaze back down to the food that appeared it had been poked savagely numerous times, but hadn’t been allowed the honorable death of consumption.  She considered for a second how that chicken represented her own tortured thoughts, how she felt stabbed through the heart again and again, especially since discovering Ron’s situation.

 

This wasn’t at all how she had pictured her little reunion party.  Somehow, it had included warm hugs, smiles and perhaps one of Ron’s amazing kisses.  It was clear, that wasn’t how it was going to be.  He was seeing someone else – _many_ some ones it appeared.  It cut into her more than she could have imagined.  Even the suggestion of Ron with another woman was too painful to consider and she pushed it back down, along with a rather large chunk of boiled potato.  How would it look if forlorn little Hermione, virginal, boy-friendless and alone could sit there across from ‘mister dating playmates of the year.’  She felt caged by the thought of such missed intimacy.  Here she had been imprisoned in her studies, locking herself away from any relationships for so long, and he was dating her precise opposite.  Even if John was just a pawn in this situation, he would have to do.  The news should be spread and proudly.  How else could she save face?  

 

She raised her eyes with as much casual indifference she could manage.  “Um…yes, I met this Muggle named John a couple of months back.  He was at a pub after school one night.”  She reached pleasantly for a piece of bread from the nearby basket, finally adding, “He actually surprised me by coming back to London to live.”  Quickly, she bit off a piece of the bread, hoping that the food would prevent any more discussion.  She wasn’t sure if she could manage to keep the ruse of levity going.

 

Seven sets of eyes darted a look to Ron, who stared at the table blankly, finally closing his eyes as if bravely accepting the point of a deeply penetrating blade into his chest.  The same set flashed back to Hermione, her roll dropping weakly to the plate as if wholly unappetizing.  

 

Molly must have finally sensed the tension and her smile faded awkwardly as she replied.  “Well, isn’t that nice.”  Everyone seemed to reach for their glasses simultaneously.

 

“Well, how about we clear these dishes and I’ll get the pudding!”  Molly pushed back from her chair.  Ginny popped up to help her as did Bill.  Ron wiped his mouth once again, tossed the napkin onto the plate and swiftly walked through the kitchen and out the back door.

 

Harry got up, grabbed his plate and walked around behind Hermione, leaning down to her ear.  “Why don’t you go have that talk?”  He continued on to the kitchen.

 

She glanced over at George whose face spoke of apology before standing up himself.

 

Well, they were going to have to talk sometime.  After all, they had to work with each other.  It’s not like they could go on without speaking.

 

She grabbed his still half full glass from the table and walked through the gauntlet of uncomfortable eyes in the kitchen.  It was lined with Weasleys holding plates and towels, all looking tense and sharing a million knowing glances.

 

Opening the door, it appeared Ron wasn’t there.  The night was still, a slight breeze, a clear sky.  Actually, it was a perfect evening.  The moon sat low on the horizon and glowed almost full in a yellowish hue.  Hermione thought immediately of Remus upon looking at it.  It was almost comforting knowing he wasn’t about to go through the agony of transformation anymore.

 

It took a second for her eyes to adjust, but then she saw him, standing by the fence, staring out across the glade.  She walked up beside him and offered the glass.

 

“Thought you might want the rest of this.”

 

“Oh, thanks.”  He took the glass, but just rested it on top of the fence post and continued to look out at the sky, his head shifted just far enough to his right so as not to catch her in his peripheral vision.

 

Even though his formal stance gave an air of cold detachment, she felt somehow contented standing beside him.  The heat radiated off his body, despite his stiffened posture.  It felt good to be this close.  Even without speaking, she felt better just being near.  Would it always be like this?  Could she work with him like this?  Could she _live_ like this?  She’d walk over to his desk, hand him some paperwork to be signed and just casually lean in to smell his hair, or brush against him accidentally in the hall.

 

If she was standing here even contemplating all this, how could she be with John?  And how low would it make her to tag along behind him knowing he had ambitions for someone else.  No, she had to get past this.  They had to put things right.  Neither of them would ever be able to have a life if this tension continued.

 

“So, how have you been?” she asked, trying to jump start the conversation.

 

“Good, good, and you?  Sounds like university was really rewarding.”  He tossed a semi-sincere smile, but seemed unable to remain connected to her eyes.

 

“Yeah, I enjoyed it.  I think I’ll always enjoy learning new things.”

 

“No doubt.  I think it’s in your blood,” he replied, taking a sip of his juice.

 

“So, looks like we’ll be working together.”

 

“Yeah.  Congratulations.  You’ll do great in that job.  It’s perfect for you.”

 

“Thank you.”  She replied honestly.

 

Once again, they heard nothing but some crickets, the warble of a nearby bird and that summer breeze that shifted the fringe on Ron’s forehead.  What she wanted to say and what she felt had to be said were in conflict with each other.  Maybe the time for them had passed.  Maybe they had their chance and blew it.  Even so, she had to at least make things friendly between them.  Could she be happy as just friends?

 

“So, maybe after I get back from Budapest, we could have lunch and you could help me get in the groove at work.  I have to get up-to-date on all the latest cases.”

 

“What’s in Budapest?”

 

“Oh, I just assumed you knew.  Harry asked me to stand in for him at some dedication ceremony tomorrow.”

 

“Another monument, huh?  They just keep springing up, don’t they?”

 

“Well, it was a big moment.  Harry’s a hero.  So are you.”

 

“And you, Hermione.”  He finally looked down at her, his clear blue eyes reflecting the silver from the moon and she was sure the breeze picked up just a bit harder.

 

“You were much more heroic than me.  You saved Harry from that creek; you thought of the basilisk venom, you…rescued me from Malfoy Manor.”

 

He turned from her, staring back out at the trees.  “I left you in the middle of it all.  Very heroic.”

 

She put a hand on his arm and a spark shot straight to her spine.  “But, you came back.  You came back, Ron.”

 

He nodded and looked back at her, offering the glass.  “It was a long time ago.  Things have changed.  Look, you want the rest?  I don’t want it.”

 

“Thanks.”  She took the glass, slightly confused and removed her hand from his bicep.

 

The silence continued for a few more seconds and Hermione bit her lip trying to compose another sentence.  Luckily, he did it for her, his voice softer this time.  “Sorry I didn’t write more.”

 

She smiled, hoping to ease the tension.  “It’s alright.  You never wrote much before.  I wasn’t expecting many letters.”

 

“Still, it wasn’t good to leave you hanging without any news of home.  I should have written more often.  Speaking of…how are your parents?”

 

“They’re fine.  I haven’t seen them yet.  They’re on holiday right now, but I’m hoping to stop out when they get back in about two weeks.”

 

“Holiday huh?”

 

“Yeah, they went to Rome, Naples and Florence.”

 

Molly’s voice rang out from the kitchen door.  “Pudding is on!”

 

He turned toward the house.  “Thanks, Mum, we’ll be right there.”

 

And just as quickly as the tension had eased, it suddenly wound tighter than a drum as she found herself squared against him looking up.  His shoulders seemed to span more space than they had when she left and he might have even grown another inch.  Those piercing blue eyes of his forced her heart to play a strange cacophony of beats.  The words were all there on her lips.  Could she say it?  I missed you.  I love you.  I want you back.

 

His lips tempted her - full and soft.  She couldn’t help looking at them, but her brown eyes always flitted back to the crystal blue of his.  A trembling finger inched out, hoping to just whisper his skin.  With a synchronized swallow, they both jerked at Molly’s voice.

 

“Are you coming?”

 

“Yeah, Mum.”  He smiled at her and the moment shattered.  This smile wasn’t the usual smoldering look she had so loved from their past, but it appeared genuine and friendly and she smiled back.

 

“Time for pudding,” he reiterated.  She turned and headed back toward the house, his steps crunching the grass directly behind her.  He opened the door for her and his hand grazed her lower back.  She paused as if the touch had burned her, but quickly released a breath and stepped into the house.


	4. Chapter 4 - Release and Revenge

 

Eight am.  The doors clicked, the locks released.  Within minutes a staff member would come by to open the doors and everyone would be escorted in for breakfast.

 

The inmate lay in his bed, arms behind his head.  He hadn’t slept much last night.  There were too many plans to be made.  Sleep could wait.  Instead, he had listened and watched.  This was his fourth night of staying up to listen as they made their rounds.  Ten, One, Three and Five.  Always on the hour and always the same route.

 

They were supposed to check the doors, but this one aide was a bit lazy.  Or perhaps love struck.  The inmate had seen how he watched the young nurse at the desk.  He wanted her badly.  Oh, yes, he did, and he always walked his rounds at three very quickly so he could get back to talk to her.  Perhaps all he needed was to suggest a little guile and see where this led?

 

The bloke was scheduled to end his shift at ten.  So, he had a couple of hours to plant the seed and see what happened.  The door opened as scheduled and he walked out to the breakfast room.  After getting his tray of food, he sat down at a table very near to where the aide stood, arms folded against the wall.  Even now, the young man kept staring at the beautiful nurse as she moved around the room, talking to the other inmates.

 

Grabbing a biscuit from his tray, he slowly and casually stepped up beside the aide and smiled.

 

“How’s it goin’?”

 

“I should be asking you that.” The aide responded.

 

“Me?  Oh, I’m good.  Feels great to be out in the general public.  I’m a people person.”

 

The aide nodded, his gaze back on the nurse.  The inmate saw his chance and took it.

 

“She’s a pretty little thing isn’t she?”

 

“Who?” the aide responded, obviously embarrassed at being caught mid-stare.

 

“You know who.” He grinned.  “I’ve seen you looking at her.  You’ve got it bad, buddy.  Personally, she isn’t my type.  I like ‘em big, but whatever lifts your spirits, if you get my drift.”  He made a subtle wanking gesture and quickly bit off a piece of biscuit.

 

“Excuse me?” the aide asked, now looking a bit annoyed.

 

“Come on mate.”  He tried to keep it friendly and casual.  “I’ve been locked up in here for years.  You don’t think I lay alone in my room at night and dream of my mother, do you?”

 

The aide smiled, arching an eye in agreement.  “Yeah, I suppose not.  Feeling a little sexually frustrated are we?”

 

“I’m getting the impression not as frustrated as you.”  He bit off another piece of biscuit.

 

Shifting uncomfortably, the aide shot him a knowing look and then turned back to his nurse.

 

The inmate moved his head a bit closer, dropping his volume.  “I think she really likes you.”

 

Just at that moment, the nurse looked up at the aide and smiled.  It couldn’t have fit his plans any better.

 

“See?  Look at that smile.  And, my god, check out the tits on her and those legs.  God, I love when she changes out of her scrubs and puts on a skirt.  Makes me want to change my preferences, if you know what I mean.”

 

“Yeah, she’s…”

 

“She’s hot, that’s what she is, and she wants you.  How can you stand it?”

 

“Excuse me?”  The aide seemed flustered, but kept watching the nurse.

 

“How can you stand being with her every night in this quiet, lonely ward with all these locked doors when it’s the perfect opportunity for you to get to know each other a lot better?”

 

“It’s our jobs.”

 

“Oh, I know and you do it so well.  It’s just that we’re all locked in, snuggled in our beds for the night and you’re left out there with her.”  He paused, seeing if he’d get a reaction.  “I’ll bet you head off to the men’s room for a good wank after staring down her top for a few hours.”  Again, he paused and when the aide didn’t respond, he knew he had him.

 

“You know, Exam Room Six has a lock on the door, from the inside.  One of the only rooms that does.”

 

“It does?”

 

“Yeah, I was in there for an exam one day and I thought it was odd since all the other doors lock from the outside, well, except for the office, of course.  Haven’t you been in there?”

 

“No, I’m a level one aide.  I don’t go in the exam rooms.”

 

“Ah, well, I’m sure you’ll work your way up very soon.  You’re very good at your job.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Anytime, mate.  Well, I’d better finish breakfast.  I have a therapy session in thirty minutes.  Need to get my head on straight so I can get out of this fucking place.”

 

“Yeah, well, good luck.”

 

He watched and he waited.  All day, he kept his eyes trained on the whereabouts of that boy from Exam Room seven.  He must have been really sick because they never moved him out and into a regular room.  The medical supplies were in the exam rooms so, he had to stay in there if he required any kind of medical intervention.

 

Twice he caught a look at the lady healer, scouring a set of heavy tomes, obviously searching for a clue to a cure.  Whatever this stripping was, it must be bad, hence the perfect thing for him to learn.  Think of it.  If he could strip someone’s magic from them…well, that would be quite convenient wouldn’t it?

 

The medical alarm rang and several nurses and healers ran down the hall, all bursting through the doors of exam seven.  Something was happening.  Something serious.  He continued to watch, sure that at any moment, he would get the opportunity he needed.  Patience was required and he’d learned plenty of that in the past four years.  He’d had nothing else to do but practice patience.

 

Several voices called out.  “We’re losing him.” -  “He’s down to seven.  Paula!”

 

The young lady healer, Paula, came running down the hall from the right, heavy book in hand.  “I’ve got it!  I found it!”

 

Intentionally looking to his left the inmate stepped out of his room and directly into the path of the young healer.  They collided and the book flew from her hands, sheets of loose paper with scribbled notes scattering over the floor.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” The inmate replied as the other male healer stepped out of exam seven.

 

“Paula, get in here now!  We’re loosing him, I need you!”

 

She glanced at him and back at the inmate who tried to look apologetic.  “I’ll get these.  You go.”

 

Paula jumped up and ran toward the exam room.  He could hear her explaining something, but he only understood bits and pieces.  Still on his knees, he shoveled the papers into his lap, grabbed the book and crawled back into his room, closing the door.  The book was too huge to examine and it was now closed from whatever useful page she had found.  He’d have to rely on the notes and he began scanning them, trying to capture a mental picture of every page.  There were drawings, notes, bulleted sentences, Latin phrases, names of spells.  He squinted trying to read her handwriting, turning another page over and scanning the back.  It had to be here.  She told them she had found it.

 

Then he saw it, the words.  “Extirpated.”  And beside it she had underlined a Latin looking phrase.  That was it.  He studied it, memorized the spelling and then glanced at the lines beside it.  They must have represented the wand movement.  It wasn’t like a standard text book, but it was close.

 

There wasn’t much time.  The noises continued in the hall and he quickly shuffled the pages, lining them up neatly and putting them in the middle of the book.  He set it on the table that sat beside his door and quickly peered out the window.  Several other inmates had gathered in the hall, obviously drawn to the commotion in exam seven.

 

Opening his door, he picked up the book and walked to the right, back toward the nurse’s room.  One staff member sat inside.  He waved to get her attention and the aide passed her wand over the space in front of her, lowering the silencing spell on the wall between them.

 

Offering his most innocent expression, he lifted the book up for examination.  “Um…yes…Paula dropped this in the hall.”

 

He tilted the book and the aide glanced down and then back at him, a definite degree of skepticism in her expression.

 

“Put it down on the table and I’ll get it in a minute.”

 

He did as asked and turned back down the hallway.  After a few steps, the sound of footsteps behind him meant the book had been collected.  His brain hummed with the newly discovered spell.  He repeated it in his mind over and over.  He pictured the wand movement, he practiced it in his mind.  Now he just needed a wand and a way out.

 

Later that night, the inmate lay in bed.  Lights out at ten.  Only the glow from the lit hallway shone through the tiny window in the door.  It was enough light to find your way to the bathroom and back, but that was about it.  If you sat on the floor in just the right place, you could read and so he found himself reviewing that newspaper again, watching the photo of Harry Potter as it smiled and shook hands with some impressive looking bureaucrat.

 

“Fucking half-blood.”  He whispered, spitting onto the photo.  “The boy who fucking lived.  Not for long, my unlucky lad, not for long.”

 

The one o’clock rounds were almost upon him.  He shuffled into the bathroom, quickly pulling off all the toilet paper from the roll.  Once it was empty, he kept one small piece and balled it up in his hand and then took the empty tube and waited by the door.  He could hear the familiar footsteps.  His favorite, horny aide was coming down the hall. 

 

This was his chance.  If all went well, he’d be out of this sterile suppository in minutes.  The footsteps were close.  He was at the next door.  When the aide reached his, he tapped on the window and smiled.

 

The aide looked in and saw the inmate waving the empty tube toward him.  He raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement and wandered down the hall.  A few minutes later he heard the door unlatch.  It was a combination of magical and Muggle locking methods, but the inmate was feeling pretty confident things would go his way.

 

The door opened out, no exposed hinges.  He smiled and slid into the doorway, his right hand brushing against the latch plate, his left taking the new roll of toilet paper from the aide.

 

“Thanks, mate.  Something from dinner isn’t sitting right.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

“So, how’s things with your lovely nurse?”

 

“I’ll let you know at the next door check.”  The aide winked.  “Goodnight.”

 

“Don’t keep her waiting too long.”

 

He saluted, roll in hand, and backed up pulling the door knob toward him.  Now was the moment.  If the wad of toilet paper that he pushed into the latch plate was thick enough, the lock wouldn’t engage and if he’d performed his psychology lesson properly, the horny aide was heading off to fetch his nurse.

 

The door closed, but he never heard the latch.  This was good.  He peered out the window and as expected, the aide wandered down the hall, never bothering to check the doors.  Sitting on the floor, his ear pressed to the crack, all was silent for a few minutes.  Then a faint giggle broke the night.  It was drawing closer.  He scooted up onto his knees, grabbed the knob and pulled the door back a crack.  Just enough to see the aide running an eager hand up the nurse’s backside as he kissed her and led her down the hall.  Oh, she was sweet.  He had lied of course; this one was just his type.  Young, lean, petite, brunette and quite innocent.  He licked his lips.  She was a ride worth taking.  

 

However, the plan was escape and he noted the keys on the aide’s belt jiggling, the wand in the slim pocket down his leg.  The door to exam room six opened and closed, the couple stumbling blindly into the room.  As worked up as this young aide was, he knew it wouldn’t be long before they finished.  He’d have to work fast.  He pulled the door open, crawled out on his knees and pulled it gently shut, the latch still disengaged.  If anything went wrong, he’d be able to get back in and try again.

 

Climbing to his feet, he crouched and moved stealthily down the hall, bypassing exam six and moving to exam seven.  The door opened.  It was dark, but a bit of light shone in from the hallway.  The stripped boy still lay on the gurney.  He wasn’t sure if the boy was alive or dead, he assumed dead due to the draped sheet.  Maybe the morgue was full.  Did it matter?  What did matter was the door that connected the two exam rooms.  He waited, hearing the shuffle of clothes being removed, grunts and the tumble of shoes hitting the ground.  The girl gasped and cried out, the aide contributing a lustful expletive.  It almost made his mouth water, thinking of that young pretty girl with her legs apart on the table.

 

Instead, he pushed the door open, still on his knees.  Yes!  There it was.  The aide’s pants lay on the floor, keys still attached, wand poking out of the pocket.  It was there for the taking.

 

  _Just move quietly.  Slowly._

 

The young man was nearly smothering the girl with kisses and grunts as he thrust himself upon her over and over again.  She responded with equally satisfying moans.  His fingers reached out, snagging the belt loop on the pants.  He drew them toward him, slipped the wand free and gripped it tightly.  It felt good to hold one again, even if it wasn’t his own birch with unicorn hair.  It would have to do.

 

His first thought was to kill the two, take the keys and just walk out, but he was almost getting off from just listening to the two of them at it.  It was just too good to pass up.  No, he’d let them live.  It would give him lots of good fantasies for the future.  Besides, this aide had been pretty helpful in his little scheme.  It’d be a shame to kill him after being so helpful and especially when he was about to fill the pretty little nurse.

 

  _Hmm…I wonder what it would feel like to die while in the midst of…_  

 

Carefully, he pulled the pants with him and backed out of the door, wand still in hand.  Once on the other side, he called out a cutting spell and released the keys from their clasp.  The grunts were becoming more frantic.  He could hear skin slapping on skin and knew the young man was about to unload so he took the pants with him and ran out the door, down the hall with as much speed as he could muster.  The hospital issued slippers didn’t have much tread and he slid to a halt near the main desk.

 

There were six keys on the loop and he didn’t know which one worked so, he grabbed the first and plunged it into the lock on the main rec room door.  To his delight it turned, but remained locked.  “ _Alohomora_ ” he called out and it opened.  _That was easy_.  One more to go.  He sprinted down the long hallway, the moonlight pouring in through the barred windows.  It dawned on him, that once free he had no idea where he was going to go, but it was of little concern.  With a wand, he could do just about anything he needed and right now, he needed out.  

 

Reaching the main door, he pushed in the same key, but it didn’t turn.  One by one, he tried them, but none worked.  Still two to go.  Then shouting.  They knew.  He was out of time.  Pushing in the last key, he turned the latch, called three different unlocking spells and the door released.  Running out into the night, he tossed the keys into the bushes, but kept the pants.  He tried to Apparate, but was assured that the wards around the facility prevented it.  Without knowing where they ended, he couldn’t be sure how far he’d have to run.  A long driveway led up to the building.  It was lined with very tall pine trees and the needles scattered over the road, making it a bit more slippery.  Still he kept running, finally hearing an alarm go off from within the building.  One more try.  He pictured a small village that he had been in while being transported to the hospital four years ago.  He didn’t remember much, but there was this park bench in the town square that a little girl had waved to him.  That he remembered.  Grabbing his wand, he turned and with a crack, disappeared.

 

*** 

 Hermione woke and took a somewhat longer than typical shower.  She needed a little more stress relief than usual.  Not only was she faced with a trip to Budapest, there was a man working in her office who left her breathless and was totally unattainable, and another on her sofa who…well, she wasn’t sure what he meant.  He certainly added another dimension to her life.   

Dressing quickly, she made some toast, about the only thing she currently had in her kitchen, only one slice of bread left.  John was still asleep on the sofa, his bare legs tangled up in the blanket.  Without intending to, she compared his features to Ron.  Broad shoulders, but not as broad, unblemished skin to Ron’s light dusting of freckles, bare chested to Ron’s scattering of hair.  Would she ever find him as attractive as Ron or would she be destined to compare every man against her would-be Adonis?

 

It seemed totally surreal to have this semi-naked man stretched out on her couch after having just met him a couple of months earlier at a pub.  She wanted to believe that the depth and quality of her relationships spanned more than a few drinks, a dinner or two and some light conversation.  Could she be so desperate for affection that she was willing to encourage such behavior, to flirt – she winced at the thought – with this pre-med student with the nice smile and deep brown eyes.  The self-respecting side of Hermione knew she should tell him to move on immediately, but the thought of living alone and knowing that Ron wasn’t…

 

A blocked breath of air escaped, her shoulders slipping as she watched him shift on the cushions.  He had his good points, didn’t he?  He was intelligent, enjoyed reading and learning, just like her.  His lofty educational pursuits certainly impressed Hermione and he did tend to exude charm when the occasion called for it.  She shook her head.  This conversation would have to occur later.  Right now she had a new job to get to.  It wouldn’t look good to be late this early in the game.  Shoving the toast in her mouth, she ran back to her bedroom forgetting the files she had brought home last night.  Some of the papers were still scattered on her bed from where she had fallen asleep reading them.  As she gathered them together she heard noises from the other room and they grew louder.

 

“No fucking bread!”

 

She stopped and listened by the door for a second as he continued.  “We’ll have to have a little chat about the food situation.”  She was about to leave the room, but stopped in her tracks when she heard the last word.  “Bitch.”

 

Frowning, she walked down the hall and into the main room.  “What did you say?”

 

His back was to her, but as he turned a smile lit up his face.  “Morning love.”

 

“I want to know what you just said.”  She repeated, a clearly accusatory tone sharply accenting her words.

 

“Me?  Nothing.  Oh, you mean the witch comment.  I was just thinking how cool it was that you were one, you know?”

 

“You didn’t say witch.”

 

“Yes I did.”  His expression dripped of innocence.  “Oh, and we’re out of bread.  Do you think you could stop and get some groceries on your way home today?  I really don’t know my way around the neighborhood and I do have to get out and pound the pavement for employment today.”  He pulled a t-shirt over his head.  “Sure would be sweet of you to pick up some food.  Oh, get those cookies I like.”

 

He walked back to the sofa, only wearing his boxers and the t-shirt, grabbed his pants and slipped them on.

 

Hermione lowered her tone.  “There is a market just up the block.  I’m broke until my first paycheck so, why don’t _you_ pick up some groceries?  I’ll be gone all day.”

 

John’s postured stiffened and he sniffed in a rather large breath, his lips held tight.  Perhaps she was just imagining it, but he seemed to glance at her hip – the location of her wand.  Just as suddenly he relaxed. “Sure, babe.  I’ll pick some stuff up.”

 

Hermione grabbed her bag and headed for the door.  The Floo still wasn’t set up, which although convenient to the ministry atrium was a bit messy.  But she had found a good place around the corner from where to Apparate.  It was sufficiently hidden from Muggle view.  Just as she turned the knob she felt his grip on her arm.  It was tight, but not uncomfortable and she turned back.

 

“Hey, don’t I get a goodbye kiss?”  he smiled and released her arm.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“You’re forgiven,” he answered with a quirky smile.

 

“Good luck with the flat hunting.”

 

He tilted his head for a second.  “Thanks.  Have a good day at work, babe.”  He pressed his lips to her cheek and then tapped her nose with the tip of his finger.

 

Hermione decided to spend a few hours in her new office before catching the Portkey to Budapest.  There was so much to do, so much to learn, she really couldn’t waste the time on idle activities.  After reaching the Ministry, she headed toward her office, coming up to Private Whitcomb who assumed his usual stance and she stopped.  He scanned her with his wand.

 

“Good morning, Ms. Granger.  It’s nice to see you again.”

 

“Good morning, Private.  Um…Whitcomb, right?”

 

“Good memory.  Yes.”

 

She smiled, happy with herself for at least remembering one small detail from the previous couple of days.  Winding her way through the desks, she automatically searched for him.

 

  _He must not spend much time in the office._

 

She shrugged and kept walking, noticing her name on a plate on the door.  Once inside, she set the files on her desk and removed her robe.  It was much too warm to keep it on.  Sitting at her desk, she pulled out the first folder, but as she glanced up a flash of red caught her eye.  The bookcase.  It was no longer empty.  Not entirely.  Three books rested on the third shelf with a red bow sitting on top.  She walked over and noticed a small card resting by the bow.  Pulling it open, she withdrew a card with a surprised smile.

 

“Just a little welcome back gift.  Congratulations on the job.  Ron.”

 

A small nest of baby-birds hatched in her stomach as she read the spines.  One was a law book, one on investigative forensics and one contained the criminal codes for the Ministry.  They would all be very useful, that was obvious.  What wasn’t quite as clear was the intent.  Surely it was just a friendly gesture.  She’d have to figure that out later when she thanked him.  With that in mind, she opened her door and peaked out one more time, but his desk still sat barren.  With a subtle sigh, she latched the door and went back to work.

 

About eleven she made her way to the International Portkey office and picked up a small gold thimble.  It was set to activate at eleven thirty and to reactivate at two in the afternoon to bring her back.  Plenty of time for the ceremony and a bit of schmoozing with the local officials – something Harry had to suffer through with almost every trip.

 

Three wizards were there to greet her when she arrived in Budapest.  Their broken English was clear enough for her to manage and they seemed delighted to meet her.  They walked a few blocks through a somewhat busy looking area of town.  Shoppers were coming and going, Muggle shoppers.  Hermione wondered where and how they might disappear into the magical neighborhood of Budapest.

 

She didn’t have to wait long.  They turned into a small shop and went down a long row of stone steps that shifted and moved in front of them as they descended.  Finally reaching a huge oak door, she stepped through and found a town square before them.  A large piece of beige canvas lay draped over what she assumed was the new monument.  A tall podium stood beside it with yellow bunting adorning the front.  A small crowd had gathered and the man leading the way gestured for her to follow him.

 

Silently, she practiced the short speech she had prepared that morning.  This wouldn’t be too bad.  She could manage this for once.  After all, Harry had done it how many times?

 

Stepping up onto the small platform, she shook hands with several witches and wizards, one who introduced himself as a local wizarding judge, another the mayor and his all-too-perfectly-put-together wife and finally, the sculptor himself who was going to say a few words just before her.

 

It was almost noon, the sun high overhead, as they took their seats just behind the podium.  The mayor made some opening comments, mostly in Hungarian, some with a heavily accented English and finally introduced the artist.  She was able to use a translation spell to get most of it.  Finally, it was her turn.  The mayor smiled at her and got up to do the introductions.  Hermione thought she’d have to compliment Harry on his patience at having to listen to probably a million and a half speeches similar to this one.  The crowd applauded when they heard her name.  It was hard not to smile at the overwhelming enthusiasm from the audience of awe-inspired magical citizens.  She focused on two small children lining the front row and started her speech.

 

*** 

 

The trip had taken nine hours.  The inmate couldn’t Apparate as he had never been there before.  Portkeys were not an option, not to a man on the run.  Instead, it was a series of trucks and buses, some hitching, some stolen when he wasn’t in the mood for conversation, too bad for the dead bodies he left behind.

  _They didn’t suffer.  Well, maybe except for the last one.  I had to practice, didn’t I?_  

 

Indeed, he couldn’t perform a new spell and expect it to be successful without a little practice.  Of course, he had to find a witch or wizard first and, lucky for him, he came across one about an hour earlier.  Too bad he didn’t conceal that wand a little better.  As soon as he noticed it, the man became his own personal guinea pig.

 

It only required a bit of surveillance, he had to track him for a few minutes before the man demonstrated his abilities and then the inmate used his own magic.  He called out the new, devastating spell and moved the wand as he had seen in the drawing.  There was no hesitation, no judgment of right or wrong, of good versus evil, only the curiosity that accompanied an escaped psychopath.  The victim stumbled, his face grew instantly pale as if all the blood in his system had evaporated and then he fell, crumbled under the curled up lips of the assailant.

 

However, there had to be a test to determine if it had truly worked.  He waved his wand, spraying water over the man’s face and as he came to.  The inmate studied the pale and shaking features, looking for some outward sign that his magic had gone.  There wasn’t anything obvious.  He looked completely normal – besides being wet, ghostly white and terrified of the man looming over him, wand pressed to his neck.

 

“Do you want to live?  Hmm?”  He twisted the wand against the man’s neck with the smirk that only came from a truly warped mind.  “I’ll give you a chance.  Just grab your wand and put up a shield.  You put up the shield and I’ll let you go.  Agreed?”

 

The man lay there shaking and he couldn’t tell if he had nodded or just shivered.  It made him angry, frustrated.  He didn’t have time to waste and he poked the tip of his wand into the man’s throat just a bit harder, eliciting a sharp gasp.

 

“Are you pure-blood?”  The inmate tilted his gaze, examining him closer, looking for the slightest hint of fear in the man’s eye, something that would give him his answer.

 

“H-half.”  The man responded in a whispered stutter.

 

“Hmm.  Too bad.  Well, half is still better than nothing.”  He shrugged, his response casual and friendly.  “I’ll reiterate my offer.  Put up a shield and I’ll let you live.”

 

He stepped back and gestured to the man’s right.  “You wand is right there.  Go ahead.”

 

The man trembled and dared to turn his head in the direction of what he knew was his only hope for life.

 

The inmate stepped back further, offering the man space to make his move.  “Go ahead.  Take it.  I’ll even give you a few seconds to bring the shield up before I curse.”

 

Reaching out a trembling hand, the man dragged his weakened body toward the wand, very slowly wrapping his fingers around the handle.  He slid himself back, terrified beyond words, never taking his eyes off the inmate.  With considerable effort, the man convinced his shaking knees to make a final stand and pointed the wobbly wand up, muttered “ _Protego_.”  Something must have been wrong because he called it again and again, his eyes tearing up as he stared at the inmate in terror.

 

“What?  Nothing?” the inmate asked.

 The man looked bewildered and started calling out other spells, but nothing seemed to work.  Finally he collapsed in apparent exhaustion, his breathing labored, tears streaking freely down his cheeks.  The inmate watched him with a researcher’s eye:  curious, intuitive.  Once satisfied he had indeed stripped him, he Apparated a short distance away and then walked off.  Test complete.

That was about thirty minutes ago, before he arrived in Budapest.  Now he was in a race with time, scouring the city for its magical neighborhoods.  He was close.  A group just ahead had to have been wizards.  No one else dressed quite the same.  They darted into a building.  It was already twelve noon.  He began to run, trying to catch up to them.

 

Following the flow of people, he ran down a flight of shifting stairs and burst through a door.  The crowd was thick, bodies stacked arm to arm, small children sitting on shoulders, flags waving.  He had to squeeze between people to move, but he could hear someone speaking in English and that in itself was a welcome relief.  It was difficult to see the origin of the voice, but he kept moving through the crowd, his mind rehearsing the spell over and over again.  Potter.  He just had to hear it was Potter and then he’d do it.

 

Winding through the crowd, he found himself behind the monstrosity that was to bedeck this square.  It was ridiculous.  If he didn’t have a mission, he would take a moment to blow the damn thing up.  There was only one true hero in the wizarding world and he had been destroyed by that little wimp of a boy.  The same boy who put his family away.  Trashed his good name.  Embarrassed him and landed him in that awful hospital.  Now it was up to him and all the others who had survived to build the army again, cut down those who had done this.

 

Stripping Potter would be a fantastic start.  No, Potter wouldn’t die, at least not immediately, but eventually.  Meanwhile he would enjoy the news, perhaps even write a letter to the editor of the Daily Prophet and tell them it was him.

  

  _Artimus Carrow strips Potter._  

He drew his wand with a smirk, but kept it at his side.  The lady was still speaking, but Potter had to be there, had to be his turn soon.  Several tall men blocked his view.  Carrow tried to blend, grinned at the faces that met his.  He would have to act fast and Apparate away.  There was only one shot at it.  His heart beat faster and faster as he slid between people, making his way toward the podium, his ears tuned to the female voice.

  _Just announce Potter._   

 

His grip tightened on the wand, his heart pounding with maniacal excitement.  He was nearly there.  Just a few more feet and he’d be in place.

 

Then he heard it.  “Please join me as we unveil this beautiful sculpture and in thanking our special guest today for this dedication ceremony for Harry Potter and…”

 

The rest of the sentence became mute.  He didn’t hear it, his body moved automatically, the trigger sprang and he stepped forward calling the spell, flourishing the wand and a jet of white hot light shot forth from his wand.  It skimmed the black robes of the two officials in front of him just as they separated and he watched it speed toward its target, strike dead in the chest.  And then he fell, no she fell.  It was a woman!

 

“Ahhh!” he screamed and turned on the spot, gone with a crack.

  


	5. Chapter 5 - Stripped

  
Author's notes:

Just a quick note of thanks to all of you for leaving the great reviews!  I get so excited when I see my inbox filling up with notices about them.  They really do make my day!  I'm sorry to keep you waiting.  Life has been hectic - new job, teenagers...need I say more.  I do have several more chapters written, but want to make sure everything is cohesive before I put it out.  There's LOTS more of our favorite couple to come, but be patient.  Enjoy this one and I'll try to get more posted soon.  ~Hugs~

* * *

 

Something smelled odd.  She couldn’t place it.  It certainly wasn’t the usual aroma from her sheets, or from food or even a man’s cologne.  It was more sterile.  The odor tingled in her nose and she forced her eyes open to discover what it was.

 

A large crack ran through the yellowed plaster ceiling.  Hermione wondered why she hadn’t noticed that crack before in her flat or the fact that it appeared so old.  She’d have to get that fixed.  As her eyes moved across the room, it registered.  This wasn’t her flat.  The room was white, dated and looked a lot like a hospital.

 

Her thoughts flashed back, trying to piece together what had happened that might have put her here.  She was giving a speech.  No, she was done with the speech and she turned to watch the canvas fall and then…nothing.  That’s it.  No pain, nothing she could remember.  She lifted her arms and looked them over, then pulled herself up checking out her chest.  It seemed fine.  There was only one place left to look and fearfully, she flipped the sheets back, fully expecting to see a mangled leg or missing foot or something.  Still nothing.  She wiggled her toes just to make sure.

 

Why was she here?  True, she felt a bit tired and cold, but not enough to keep her down.

 

The door pushed open and a young woman in a white dress walked in.  She smiled tenderly and spoke broken English.

 

“Good.  Awake now.  Feel okay?”

 

Hermione nodded as the woman pulled out her wand and scanned it over her body.  She saw a faint blue glow and looked to the lady’s face for some sign of whether this was a positive or negative indication of her condition.

 

“You wait.”

 

She nodded again as the young woman left.  Now her mind started doing a mental inventory of all body parts, all joints and limbs.  Did anything feel odd?  The final test.  She put her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up.  Still fine.

 

“Ms. Granger.”  Another woman entered the room.

 

“Yes.”

 

“I’m glad to see you are up and feeling better.”

 

“Where am I?”

 

“Budapest Central Magical Hospital.  You um…collapsed at the dedication ceremony and were brought here.”

 

“I collapsed?” She inadvertently stroked her fingers through her hair.  “From what?”

 

“I’m not sure.  I was hoping you could tell us.  Were you feeling weak this morning?  Do you have a cold?  Have you been ill?”

 

“No.”

 

“Did you fail to eat today?”

 

“Well, I didn’t have a lot, but I did eat something.”

 

“That could explain it.  Sometimes a drop in blood sugars can cause a collapse.” The healer seemed to hesitate for just a moment, her face describing someone who was uneasy about the conversation.  “Ms. Granger, there is one other thing.

 

“Yes?”

 

“We did have two witnesses who said they saw a flash of light hit you.  They believe it was wand fire.”

 

“I was cursed?”

 

“Possibly.  We have scanned you with several tests and don’t see any obvious signs that would explain it.  It you were cursed, either it was innocuous or the witnesses were wrong and it missed.”

 

“Or, perhaps I didn’t eat enough breakfast.”

 

The healer just tipped her head, indicating the same perplexed expression that Hermione currently sported.

 

“So, everything seems fine?”

 

“Yes, all standard tests are within normal range.”

 

Hermione looked around the room, trying to determine if she had any other questions.  She wasn’t inclined to collapse, never had been.  This left her with two very troubling scenarios.  Either someone just tried to curse her and missed or she was hit with something and no one knows what it is.  Both results left her quite uneasy.

 

“Does this mean I’m free to go?”

 

“If you feel steady on your feet, yes, you may go.  We have someone out front to take you in a car to a nearby hotel.  I believe your Portkey will need to be reset.”

 

“What time is it?”

 

“It’s four o’clock.”

 

Within thirty minutes she had dressed and was riding in the backseat of a car toward the hotel, just until they could arrange for a new Portkey.  The mayor’s wife was in the front seat, clearly trying to lighten the mood with small talk, but Hermione had already begun a systematic elimination of possibilities, cataloging her own feelings, her own symptoms, if she had any.

 

“Ms. Granger,” the mayor’s wife continued, “I will come back to get you as soon as the Portkey is ready.  We don’t anticipate that it will take more than a few hours.  We had to make sure you were healthy enough to travel before we could request it.”

 

“I understand.  Thank you.”

 

The mayor’s wife made sure she was in her room and left with assurances she would work quickly and be back to pick her up that evening.  It was a Muggle hotel so Hermione really had no problem getting around.  She turned on the telly for a little while, but found that her mind was too restless, still going over all the possibilities.  Soon, the carpet was beginning to show wear from her insistent pacing.  

 

After a couple of hours, Hermione noted that the air conditioning in the room was bringing the temperatures down drastically.  Probably the fact that she had been walking at a brisk pace during the past few hours hid the fact that she was getting cold.

 

Finding the thermometer and controls on the wall, she adjusted the temperature, rubbing her arms in the process.  Then she remembered shrinking a sweater and putting it in her bag that morning, just in case.  For once, she was proud of her own foresight.

 

Pulling out the miniaturized cardigan, she pulled out her wand to reverse the reduction spell.  With her usual swoop and tap motion, she waited for the sweater to enlarge, but nothing happened.  Thinking herself simply confused on the spell, she tried another to enlarge it, but still nothing happened.

 

With a deep frown, she studied her wand, looking for some kind of damage, but saw none and started talking to herself in hopes of working out another befuddling situation.

 

“This is odd.”

 

With another swish and flick she tried something simpler, levitation, pointing it at the pen on the table.  The pen lay motionless.

 

“Great.  Now I have a broken wand, too.”

 

She grunted in frustration and considered if she could do any wandless magic that would solve her immediate problem.  As practiced a thousand times prior, she focused all her magic and directed it at her goal as if the wand were in her hand.  Fully expecting to feel the familiar burst of energy, she nearly lost her ability to breathe.  The impact was like a pulse of ice water injected into her veins.  Her jaw locked, along with the rest of her muscles and then, just as sharply, her mouth fell open and she gasped in part of a breath.  The paralyzing sensation left terror in its wake.  Her hands began to tremble, her knees gave way landing her on the bed.  

 

In a slow motion rate of decline, she tipped over onto the sham-covered pillow, the phone on the bedside table blurring as she fell.  Time and space no longer made sense.  The walls floated in obscurity, the lamp light rebounded in a dizzying variation of color.  Her body tried desperately to lie still, to stop the horrible spinning around her.  The innocent paintings on the wall, the draperies, the simple furniture all loomed over her with the confidence that they belonged there and she did not.  Still fearful of movement, she reached out a single hand, praying that some small part of her would still work properly.  It groped blindly toward the table and her vision began to clear enough to make out the outline of the phone.  Reaching out a shaky hand, she grasped the receiver and pulled it toward her wildly spinning head.  The same hand reached back again, desperately searching the tiny squares and found the zero.

 

Her breathing began to slow and the heat returned to her body as a voice spoke on the other end of the line.

 

“Front desk, may I help you?”

 

She focused all her energy into staying calm and speaking as clearly as possible, but the motion of the walls was impacting her speech.  “I-I n..n..need to place a long d-distance call.  Can you help me?”  She couldn’t mask the fear in her warbly voice.

 

The lady on the end of the line seemed very obliging as if dealing with a homesick tourist as Hermione explained how to reach a Mr. Harry Potter in London.  Between clicks and tones, she kept pulling in deep breaths, in and out, in and out, and willing her nerves into submission, not wishing to scare Harry to death.

 

However, when he finally came on the line, she found herself overcome with relief and lost what little composure she had collected.

 

“H-harry?  Oh, thank God!”  Her breath came in short bursts.  
  


“Hermione?  What’s going on?  Why are you calling on the Ministry Muggle line?”

 

“I need help.”

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Something happened at the ceremony today.”

 

“I heard you missed your Portkey.  I’ve already requested a new one.  So, what happened?”

 

“I don’t know, but please…H-Harry, I’m scared.”  She was no longer able to muffle the terror in her voice as it pitched up.

 

He asked again, slower, deeper.  “Hermione, what’s wrong?”  His tone was much firmer indicating his understanding of her unsettled emotions.

 

“I can’t perform any magic.  S-something’s wrong.  I don’t know.  Maybe I was cursed or I’m sick or oh, I don’t know, but I can’t even do a simple spell!”

 

“Calm down, Hermione.  Maybe your wand is broken.  Did you hit it on something today?  Is it cracked?”

 

“No, my wand looks fine.  Look, I can’t explain why, but I know something is wrong.  I tried wandless a-and I don’t feel right.  The room was spinning.  I got so cold.  Please.  Please, can you come and get me?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“I’m sorry, Harry.  I just…I…”

 

“No need to apologize, Hermione.  I’m on my way.  Where are you located?”

 

Hermione gave Harry the information and after he reassured her for the fourth time, she finally placed the receiver back onto the cradle and did her best to pull in several long breaths and blow them out slowly.

  

  _You’re just being paranoid, Hermione.  Get a grip on yourself.  There’s an explanation for this.  There’s always an explanation.  You just have to figure it out.  Now think._

She lie quite still, her stomach churning with worry.  Every part of her body seemed to react to the stress, each adding to her paranoia.  Her heart was racing – maybe she was having a heart attack.  Her throat felt dry – perhaps it would close and she would suffocate before Harry arrived.  Horrible visions of finding her own body lying on the floor began to dance in her head.  It was like living a nightmare and although it did nothing for her sanity, it did help to pass the time.  Within about fifteen minutes, a tap on the door made her hesitantly roll her head on the pillow.  

 

“Hermione?”

 

It was Harry’s voice.  She pulled in a courageous breath and rolled off the bed, finding her knees – although still wobbly - were at least keeping her up.  Ignoring everything except her body’s motion toward help, she put all her concentration into reaching the lock on the door.  Turning the knob, she was surprised to see Ginny’s concerned face in the opening, Harry standing behind her, equally expressive.

 

“Ginny?”  Her own voice sounded foreign to her.  Weak.  Desperate.  She wanted to tell the person speaking to shape up for the tone was truly pitiful.

 

“Hey, sweetie.  Harry thought I should come along.  What’s wrong?”  She placed a reassuring hand on Hermione’s arm.  It felt warm and comforting.  Hermione turned to walk back into the room, but had only taken two steps when she stumbled.  Ginny lurched forward, using the wall as leverage to help keep her friend from falling.

 

Harry bolted forward instantly to help, lifting her arm over his shoulder.  Together, they had her sitting on the bed within seconds, both showing identical looks of disquiet.  Ginny seemed to study her with more of a medicinal eye while Harry’s expression shone only deep seated worry.

 

After asking her a barrage of questions, Ginny and Harry both agreed that she needed to go back to the hospital and they arranged to get her there post haste.  The same healer that had seen Hermione a few hours earlier, came back in to find a much more distressed looking patient.  They explained Hermione’s apparent lack of magic and the healer scanned her again, still shaking her head as she found nothing wrong.  The healer finally pulled Harry aside and asked if this could possibly be psychosomatic, to which Harry assured her it was not.  After concluding that she was well enough to travel, they left.

 

*** 

 

Hermione’s plane ride home seemed torturously slow.  Without the ability to use a Portkey, unable to Apparate – not even side-along – and being too far for a Floo, she was forced to take Muggle transportation home.  Harry offered to come along, for at least he knew a bit more of the Muggle world than Ginny and he had the resources to pay for the ticket and get her cleared through customs.  

 

Even with Harry sitting beside her, even with his attempt at light humor and his frequent, and rather tender, strokes along her arm and cheek, she felt lost.  Being without magic, even if it was just a fluke, a temporary loss, without the ability to perform even the most rudimentary task, left her bereft.  More than once she had visions of going back to a Muggle life.  She’d certainly loose her job at the Ministry.  With that thought came another, even more gut-wrenching thought – she might lose something even more precious.  Would her magical friends still want to be with her, if she were just a Muggle, a squib?   The vision of them turning from her left a chasm in her chest and her stomach turned sour. 

 

She glanced at Harry with that thought in mind.  She almost had convinced herself that he would prove her right with a flinch or slight shift away.  However, he never wavered as his shoulder just brushed hers on the cramped airline seats.  It was anger that burned inside her and yet, the fear layered on top had her rattled.  Her eyes watered, a look of desperation etching her brows as she wondered if he might actually read her thoughts.  Harry turned toward her and she fought the urge to look away, not wanting him to see the depth of her fear and yet desperate for reassurance.  Their eyes met and she found herself locked in his gaze.  He smiled, softly and genuinely, the care shining in those green eyes of his.  Clearly, his hopes were to draw the same reaction from her, but when a single tear finally slid from her eye, the smile dropped and he cupped her cheek with one hand and tenderly wiped the lone drop from her face.

 

They had been through so much together and some how Hermione always felt safe and confident with Harry and Ron by her side.  Harry’s immeasurable strength in the face of so much terror had always amazed her.  She willed herself to somehow absorb just a bit of that stability and use it for herself.

 

Her cheek quivered against his cool hand.  “I’m scared,” she whispered.

 

Harry kept his palm on her cheek.  “I know.  We’ll figure it out.  I’m sure it’s only temporary.”  His words held such hopeful assurance.

 

“What if it’s not?  Do you…do you think…”  Hermione’s eyes searched his, hoping she wouldn’t have to voice her concern, that somehow he would understand her deepest, darkest terror.  Saying the words might just be her undoing.

 

“It’s not permanent.  Trust me.”  Harry brushed a stray strand of hair off her face, tucking it behind her ear as his eyes softened even more.  

 

“What if it is?”

 

“It’s not.”  He gripped her hand and squeezed it firmly but gently.  “But, even if it were, it doesn’t change how we feel about you.  You’ll always have me and Ginny and…now you have John, too.”

 

She knew his attempt to assuage her fears was genuine, but her thoughts of abandonment were not directed at him or Ginny and certainly not at the man who had only known her for ninety-something days.  There was only one person who knew the depth of her insecurities, her intense love of magic and the constant effort she had put forth to fit in a world that had once seemed foreign.  Her entire life had changed the year she turned eleven and it only mattered what one person thought.  She nodded at him in understanding, but the motion swiftly changed to a negative shake of her head.  Harry ducked his head, trying to diagnose the cause of her tearful expression.  Suddenly, he grew still and pulled in a slow breath of clarity.  When he spoke, it struck her directly in the heart.

  
“Ron will understand.”  

 

A well of tears gushed across her eyes and Harry clearly recognized that he had hit the nail on the head.  “He cares about you.  He won’t abandon you, you know that, right?  None of us will abandon you.”

 

It was exactly what she needed to hear.  Rolling her lips, she nodded, wiping her eye a final time.

 

The rest of the trip was rather quiet.  Except for a brief stint at English customs where several important looking suits exchanged some words and shot questioning glances at her, they arrived back at Hermione’s flat by midnight.  Hermione suspected Harry had confounded one or more officials, but she was too terrified to reprimand him for any illegality on his part.  Ginny was waiting for them in the hall.  Upon entering, John turned from his spot on the sofa to see Ginny and Harry escorting Hermione into the flat.  

 

“Hermione.  What’s wrong?”  He bolted off the sofa.

 

Hermione did her best to handle the introductions quickly.  “Harry, Ginny…this is John.”

 

Ginny nodded to the man and immediately took Hermione by the arm, mothering her friend into a warm bath followed by a soft pair of pajamas.

 

Meanwhile, Harry tried his best to explain to a bewildered and somewhat agitated John what had happened.  About forty five minutes later, Hermione lay in her own bed, the quilt folded neatly over her lap when Ginny walked back in the room carrying a tray with food and hot tea.

 

“Here we go.”  She set the tray down on the bed beside her.  “If you really did collapse today because of blood sugar, then you obviously need to eat.  So, here’s a lovely turkey sandwich and some of Mum’s special tea.  Trust me, you’ll sleep like a baby.”

 

“I don’t want to be drugged into sleep, Ginny.”

 

“It’s not drugged, just special herbs that help to induce a deep sleep.  I promise.”

 

Hermione lifted the cup and smelled the tea, as if she’d recognize the difference.

 

“Your friend, John, said he’d keep an eye on you tonight.  Harry gave him a way to reach us if anything odd happens.  Alright?”

 

What Hermione wanted to do was beg Ginny to stay, but she already recognized what a terrible inconvenience it had been for them to up and leave for Budapest on such short notice.  She had been such a blubbering bother tonight.  The guilt willed her into a reply.

 

“Yes, that’s fine.”

 

Ginny smiled softly, sitting on the edge of the bed as Hermione sipped her tea.

 

“Ginny?  Can you just talk to me for a minute?  Just talk about anything.  Something to get my mind off of this.  Okay?”

 

“Sure.  What would you like to talk about?  Besides how yummy that sandwich looks.”

 

This elicited a small grin from Hermione and Ginny seemed quite pleased with herself.

 

“Oh, I can tell you some exciting news from work today.”

 

“What?”

 

“Well, first of all – and this isn’t the exciting part – we’ve had three more cases nationally of the virus and unfortunately, the first death.”

 

“Oh, no.”

 

“Yes.  It’s very sad.  He was a father of two.  But, the good news?  I think I might have at least found a way to determine who is most susceptible to it.  It’s not a cure, obviously, but it’s a step in the right direction.  If we can at least test for who could get it, it might help us determine a pattern that we can use to find a cure.”

 

“So, are you going to start testing everyone?”

 

“Pure-bloods only.  It seems to be impacting them the most.  It’s strictly voluntary at the moment, but I’m hopeful to have quite a few volunteers, including at least seven other pure-blood redheads that I know.”

 

“You do have a whole set of test cases at your disposal.”  She grinned, biting into the sandwich.

 

“I wouldn’t say that.  Most of my brothers are rather hard-nosed and wouldn’t likely just stroll in voluntarily for the test.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find a way to test them.”

 

“Oh, I agree.”  Ginny grinned, a sort of mischievous glint in her eye.

 

A head popped around the door jamb.  It was John.

 

“How’s it going ladies?”

 

Ginny must have taken that as her cue.  She patted Hermione on the leg.  “Well, I’d better run.  I’ll pop over tomorrow and see how you’re doing.”

 

Hermione nodded and Ginny left, tossing a smile to John as she continued out the door.  Hermione heard Harry call from the other room.  “Goodnight, Hermione.”

 

She called back.  “Goodnight, Harry.  Thank you!”

 

The door clicked.  John still stood in the doorway.  Hermione kept chewing her sandwich, her eyes still turned down.  Even facing John with her life-altering news felt somehow humiliating.  He was a Muggle and she tried to rationalize that he really wouldn’t care, but it still gnawed at her.

 

He remained in the doorway at first.  “So, your friend Harry kind of explained what happened.  I have to admit, I really don’t get all this stuff, but I guess, basically, you’re the same as me now, is that right?”

 

She couldn’t answer.  Putting words to it would make it far too painfully real.  Instead she managing a nod and tried to swallow down the bit of sandwich that suddenly tasted wholly unappealing.

 

Finally, tentatively, he walked around to her side of the bed and sat on the edge.  “You don’t have to worry.  I’ll take care of you.”  He stroked her cheek and she dared a glance to his face, hoping not to see it awash with pity.

 

“You have to look at the bright side.  We’re the same now, you and I.  Not that it was bad having you with all those neat powers, but I did feel a little out of my league sometimes.  We have even more in common now and lots of things we can share and do together.”

 

Couldn’t he tell that his words were ripping her apart even more inside?  How could she explain that his attempt at comfort was making her feel even worse?  Having magic was something that entitled her to a different existence, something that gapped between them, giving her pause to contemplate a relationship with this man.  Without it, she dropped in rank, her future falling drastically on the self-worth scale.  She didn’t like being on even ground with this man, it made her feel weak to his strong and more suited to his world – less to her own.  It wasn’t where she wanted to be. 

 

The reason for keeping them apart – her excuses that she was different and he didn’t understand – none of them would hold up to examination anymore.  She didn’t want to settle for a Muggle.  Closing her eyes for a moment, she realized the prejudicial tone in her own thoughts – like a bit of Slytherin had seeped into her system.  Going back to that kind of life would mean leaving too much behind.  Her physical life she could sacrifice, but not the love of her magical existence.  It was far too ingrained for her to give it up.

 

Lifting the plate off her lap and putting it aside, John leaned in for a kiss on her cheek and, as expected, went right to her neck.  Her nerves tangled in a web of emotion.  She ached for some comfort and welcomed his attentions to her, basking in the knowledge that she wasn’t wholly undesirable as a regular human being.  He seemed content just to kiss her rather innocently and luckily, his attentions had never required any rebuke on her part.  She wondered if this was just a caring kiss and not his attempt to lead her into more.

 

It didn’t take long to find out for soon he had crawled up onto the bed and the tender kisses had escalated into a feast on her neck.  A hand popped a button lose on her pajama top, quickly moving toward the second, and she wiggled just a bit in response.

 

“John.”

 

“Yeah, babe.”  He answered distractedly, opening another button.

 

“I’m not sure this is such a good idea right now.”

 

“I do.”  Another button.

 

“Well, I don’t.”  Wedging her hand between them, she pushed at his chest.

 

“Aw, come on babe.  You know this will make you feel better.  Just relax.  Let me take care of you.”  This time his hand slipped under her pajama top and inched toward a breast.

 

For a second she contemplated his words and almost gave in.  It might provide some much needed stress relief if she let him continue, but something about it just felt wrong.  Her mind must not be firing on all cylinders for her to even contemplate this.  She wasn’t really ready for this in their relationship.  If she let him keep going she was sure that tomorrow would bring a whole other set of guilty emotions to just ice the cake of her already harrowing day.  Ron’s face flashed in her mind like a warning signal and her eyes popped open with force.  

 

“John, please.”  This time her push was hard enough to make her rejection quite clear.

 

He pulled back, withdrawing his hand and looked curiously into her eyes.  “You mean it.”

 

She wasn’t sure, but his tone was either disappointment or annoyance.  “Yes.  I’m just too tired and worried.  This just isn’t the right time.”

 

He sat back, his expression softening with the instanteousness of a light switch.  “You’re right.  That was very insensitive of me.  I apologize.”

 

“Apology accepted.”  She feigned a weak smile and willed her heart to retreat back from her stomach to its normal resting place.

 

“Maybe when you’re feeling a bit stronger?”  He smiled, wagging his now sparkling eyes and nodding, trying to coax her into agreement.

 

“Maybe.”  She answered flatly, cautiously.

 

His eyes squinted slightly and she felt a wave of heat radiate off of him.  “Hermione, is there something else going on here?”

 

Her heart halted somewhere in her ribcage.  “What do you mean?” she replied, buttoning her pajama top with shaky fingers that seemed to have lost all flexibility.  Briefly she wondered if this was what arthritis felt like.

 

His move was meant to look casual, but only increased her nervousness as he slipped more solidly up onto the bed.  “It’s just that you haven’t seemed all that happy to see me since I arrived.  I thought we were really doing well, but something has changed.”

 

“It’s just being home and adjusting to a new job and seeing all my old friends.”

 

“Old friends, huh?  Would that include old boyfriends?”  His tone dropped a degree.

 

“Well, yes, but it’s not what you think.  I’m not seeing anyone else, if that’s what you want to know.  And I don’t sleep around.”  That last sentence came out a bit too firmly and she waited for a reaction.

 

“I never said you did.”  He replied honestly, a little crease between his eyes.  “I’m not in the habit of dating girls that sleep around.  I guess I’m sort of old-fashioned, a bit possessive.”  Abruptly, he stood up and walked to the window, checking the lock and pulling the curtains tightly closed.  “It’s a flaw, but that’s how I am.”

 

She pursed her lips in disgust that she had to defend her own honor in such a way.  “John, I’m really tired.”

 

“Oh, yeah, of course.  I’m sorry.  I’ll just go make up the sofa.  Sweet dreams, babe.”  He kissed her on the forehead.  “You just call if you need anything, alright?”

 

She smiled as he backed away and clicked off the lamp beside her bed.  Reaching the door to her room, he paused, examining the side of it and turned back.  

 

“You know, you really should look at getting some good locks for the doors in here.  To be safe.” 

 

A pause. 

 

“I’ll be right outside your door.”  

 

She wasn’t sure why, if it was the way he said it, a threat and a promise all rolled into one, or perhaps the raspy low tone, but she shivered in response.  He smiled softly again and then quietly latched the door.  Her mind buzzed with absurd thoughts of him hovering over her door, listening, waiting for her to sleep.  The feelings from the hotel returned, her heart slamming in her chest, her blood pressure shooting sky high.  Despite her nerves, she knew it wasn’t good for her to be this anxious and she concentrated on slowing her heart beat, focusing her thoughts on work and the briefs she had to review.  

 

The sheer exhaustion from the day quickly overwhelmed her and she dozed off.  But an odd dream woke her a short time later.  Still unmoving, her head in a daze from a half remembered dream, she noticed a shadow and turned her eyes toward the door.  For a brief moment her heart skipped a beat seeing a dark figure standing in her doorway, but she closed her eyes again, sure it had just been the lingering images of that strange dream.  Or was it?

    

 


	6. Chapter 6 - Ships That Pass in the Night

  
Author's notes: Sorry it's been so long between updates.  Life has been hectic, but now that 'Fate of the Generations' is done, I can focus all my energy on this story.  I promise I'll have several more chapters out soon.  Thanks to all of you for the incredible reviews!  I'm just so thrilled to get them and I try to answer them all, but alas, some sit in waiting a bit too long and I apologize for that.  Now, on to Chapter 6 and Happy Holidays to everyone!  


* * *

Chapter 6 - Ships That Pass in the Night   

 

Harry’s first thought the next morning was to track down Ron.  Not content with waiting until they met at the Ministry, he dressed quickly and went directly to Ron’s flat.  It had been so late getting Hermione home and settled he was wiped the night before.  For some reason, it felt urgent that he inform his best mate first thing that morning.  His two best friends may have parted company, but it was well known that each cared for the other more than they let on.

 

Arriving just outside the flat, he quickly checked that the main road was free of any Muggle pedestrians who might happen by and wonder why a man was stepping out from behind the bushes.  Ron had temporarily turned off his Floo and Harry didn’t think Apparating right into the flat was wise this early in the morning.  Within a few steps he stood at the door and knocked.  It didn’t take long before he heard the telltale whoosh that indicated a protective spell of some kind had been removed, then a click as the door unlocked.

 

“Hey, mate!”  Ron smiled, barefoot and still in his plaid pajama pants and an orange t-shirt.  “You’re up early.”

 

Harry stepped in as Ron closed the door behind him.  “Yeah, well I needed to see you before we got to work.”

 

“Sure.  Hey, you want some tea or coffee?”  Ron marched over, happily filling a cup as if his morning visitor had put a prematurely positive spin on his day.

 

“Coffee would be great.  Listen, I have some news.”  Harry’s expression turned grim, something Ron apparently didn’t see at first, but handing him the cup, his brows furrowed just slightly at the concern in his mate’s voice.

 

“What’s wrong?” he replied, an octave lower, his lips parting to pull in a bigger breath.

 

“Sit down.”  Harry pulled out the kitchen chair, Ron following suit.

 

“Something happened yesterday.”  Harry paused, Ron’s eyes now boring into him with interest beyond the mundane.  “To Hermione.”

 

“What?  Is she hurt?”  Harry could almost hear the quickening of his friends heartbeat.

 

“Um…well, it’s hard to say.”

 

“What do you mean?  Is she alright?”  Ron’s voice grew as did his height while the chair scratched back against the floor.

 

“Look, you can’t go barreling out of here without knowing the whole situation.  Sit.”

 

“You’re scaring me, Harry.  What the hell’s going on?”  Ron’s entire countenance changed.  The usual dotting of freckles somehow blended in with the flush on his cheeks as the simple disquiet turned to panic.  Still, he yanked the chair back and sat down, more on the edge as if coiled and ready to pounce.

 

Harry did his best to describe everything that had happened the previous day.  It was his intention to be as factual as possible and try not to relay the actual fear that he himself had experienced when finding Hermione in that condition.  Ron would grab that and build upon it until Harry would end up with another friend needing help.  Keeping a tight grip on his own worry, he spoke calmly and continued the explanation.  Ron definitely fed off the emotions but remained still, his blue eyes nearly burning as they studied Harry’s every word.

 

“So, we don’t know if this is temporary or not?” Ron asked, followed by a rather audible gulp.

 

“Not yet.  The Healer in Budapest said everything looked normal, but Hermione was so weak, she could barely stand when we got there.”

 

“Why didn’t you take her to St. Mungo’s?”  His tone had become very accusatory and Harry nearly flinched when Ron leaned toward him.

 

“Ginny will take her today.  The Healer said she was fine.  She was just really tired so we took her back to her flat.”

 

“You left her there alone?”  Again, Ron prepared to bolt from his chair.

 

“John’s with her.”

 

This brought Ron’s motion to a complete halt as he met his friend’s gaze.

 

“John.”

 

Harry dreaded this almost more than telling him about her condition.  “Yeah, her…um…boyfriend.  Remember, she mentioned him at dinner the other night?”  Harry hesitated, not sure how Ron would take the news.

 

“Yeah.”  Ron sunk like a slowly deflating balloon.  “She’s living with him?” his brows seemed to morph into a single thin line, his jaw tense.

 

“I guess.  He was at her flat when we got back.  He said he’d keep an eye on her.  Ron…” he cleared his throat uncomfortably “…he knew she was a witch.”  Harry knew this would hit his friend hard and for a moment he considered offering words of comfort, but the expression on Ron’s face told him to keep any other thoughts to himself.

 

“But if he knows what she is, then they must be…”  Ron sank even lower back into this chair, head down, eyes darting back and forth with thought.  He looked like he was trying to formulate some kind of plan, but when he remained silent, Harry finished the sentence for him.

 

“Close…yeah, I know.  He definitely knew about her abilities.”

 

“Blimey.”  

 

Both men seemed to sit in stunned silence, both fully aware that it was illegal to divulge your magical status unless you’re at the very least engaged or about to be.

 

“So, what’s this bloke like?  I mean…is he…is he decent?”

 

“He seemed like a pretty average bloke.  We mostly spoke about Hermione.  I think he was a medical student and they met at a pub just off the campus at the school.”

 

“So, he’s smart, isn’t he?”  Ron’s remark wasn’t so much a question as an affirmation of his own educational inferiority.

 

“I guess.  Look, Ginny’s going to check on her again this morning.  She thinks she can get her an appointment at St. Mungo’s to see this Spell Damage Specialist pretty quickly.”

 

“But they said she was fine.”

 

“The tests said she was fine, but…well, she was really scared and weak.  The Healer suggested that it might be something with her mind.”  

 

“Bloody hell.”  Ron shook his head, his eyes slipping shut.

 

Harry knew his mate was just as worried as he, but there wasn’t anything else he could say or do at the moment.  At least he had stopped looking like he was ready to rip John limb from limb.  Harry tried to keep his tone soothing.

 

“Look, I’m sorry Ron.  I know this isn’t easy for you.  If it makes any difference, you should know that she was really worried about what you’d think of her without her magic.”  Ron’s eyes darted up, absorbing that last statement.

 

Harry paused, unable to determine anything else to say.  “Um…I’m going to head into work.  Ginny will check in with me in a little while and I’ll let you know what she says.”  Harry rose.  “See you there?”

 

“Yeah.  I’ll be there in a little while.”

 

Harry nodded and turned to leave.

 

“Harry.”  He turned back.

 

“Thanks for letting me know.”

 

Again, Harry nodded and with a crack he was gone.

 

*** 

 

Distraction was not a good quality in an Auror.  It could mean getting yourself killed.  Aurors were trained to close their mind to outside stimuli, to focus on the task at hand.  However, they were human and it was expected that emotions could play with one’s head at times.  This was one of those moments.

 

Ron arrived at the Ministry only after pacing his flat for fifteen minutes weighing the pros and cons of going to Hermione’s place to check on her.  Every time he’d convince himself to go, Harry’s words slapped him back.  She had a boyfriend.  Even worse, a live-in, pre-med, near fiancé status boyfriend who was taking care of her.  She didn’t need Ron bursting in and making a scene and certainly not to hover all over her like some forlorn Mother Hen.

 

Even with the paperwork adorning his desk and the morning meetings and inquiries from a dozen other personnel, he couldn’t keep himself focused on the job.  Every few minutes his eyes darted up to the gold plate on the door – “Hermione Granger – Director Public & Community Relations.”  He hadn’t even been in the office much for the past two days or he could have stopped in and seen her.  At least he had left her the congratulatory gift.  He should have welcomed her back, took the gift to her personally and who knows, maybe he would have gone to that dedication ceremony.  If he had just made an effort to be here, she wouldn’t be in this situation.  Ginny sent word that she had, as promised, checked in and Hermione was resting comfortably.  She’d see the Healer that afternoon.  It did little to ease the gnawing in Ron’s stomach.

 

By noon, he felt like crawling out of his skin with worry and marched into Harry’s office.

 

“Harry, where does she live?”

 

“What?” he replied, looking up from a stack of papers.

 

“Where does Hermione live?”  It wasn’t voiced as a question.

 

Harry paused and examined him.  Ron knew instantly that Harry understood the reason for asking for he picked up a spare bit of parchment and wrote something on it, pushing it toward him.

 

“Let me know how she is.”  Harry’s face remained blank, but a true understanding flashed between them.

 

Ron took the slip.  “I’ll be back soon.”

 

Arriving at Hermione’s flat, he attempted to knock three separate times before finally tapping his knuckles on the painted brown door.  If he hadn’t been so focused on other issues, he might have questioned why Hermione was living in what appeared to be a somewhat older building that looked like it could use some repairs.  He wasn’t even sure if she had a Floo address.  

 

Hearing some shuffling from within, he blew out a puff of air, his own feeble attempt to calm either his nerves or his temper or whatever might be ready to interrupt the civil conversation he hoped to have with this man in Hermione’s life.

 

“Hello.  Are you John?” he asked as the door opened.

 

“Yes.”  The man smiled faintly as he held the door cautiously.

 

Ron’s Auror training kicked in as he quickly absorbed every detail from the man’s brown eyes and short brown hair to the dimple on his chin and the small mole on his cheek.  It was stupid to assume such a posture, but Ron felt himself straighten, taking the smallest delight in the fact that he bested this man in height by about two inches.

 

“My name is Ron Weasley.  I’m a friend of Hermione’s.”

 

“Oh, yeah, she’s mentioned you.”  John kept a gap in the door steady, a pleasant, but not welcoming expression on his face.

 

“Can I see her?”

 

“Well, she’s still sleeping.  I don’t think it’s wise to wake her yet.”  The response sounded rather rehearsed and Ron had to force himself not to frown.  Suddenly John’s face broke into a smile, albeit a shallow looking one at that.  For whatever reason, something Ron would mindlessly debate for hours to come, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled.  “I’ll tell her you stopped by and inquired.  I’m sure she’ll be touched.”

 

A blink passed between the two of them.  Just a blink, but it was enough for Ron to take an immediate dislike to this man.  If he wasn’t sure as firewhisky that he and Hermione were through, he would have likened the sensation to jealousy.  It was ridiculous, of course.  She was living with this bloke and if she liked him, then that was her decision.  However, Ron just couldn’t rid himself of the disturbing feeling.  More so, he couldn’t rid his heart of the continuing ache that her absence had caused.

 

“Yes, please do.  Tell her that I hope she feels better soon.”

 

“I will.”  John tossed back another half-grin.  “Goodbye.”  The door latched with Ron still standing before it, once again faced with the brown slightly-chipped paint.

 

*** 

 

Hermione’s office remained empty the rest of the day and then the weekend arrived.  Ron wore a pattern into his carpet, pacing the first night.  He actually exited his flat on one occasion with the intention of marching back to Hermione’s place, but reversed himself at the last minute.  Only due to the fact that he was called in for overtime on Saturday and then found Diane at his flat again - holding him in a guilt trip - Sunday, did he keep himself grounded.  At least Ginny updated him on Sunday bringing just the slightest relief.  She had been back to St. Mungo’s for more tests and was up and eating, but spent most of the time asleep in her flat.

 

Finally, on Monday, as Ron sat at his desk twirling a quill in thought, he noticed some movement out of the corner of his eye and witnessed Hermione’s robed figure entering the office.

 

Bolting from his desk, he covered the space between them in mere seconds and caught the sleeve of her robe in his fingers.  Ron’s heart fluttered with sheer joy, but he managed to keep his face as relaxed as he could manage.  She obviously had enough on her mind without his angst adding to her emotional state.

 

“Hermione.”

 

“Weasley!”  Kingsley Shacklebolt bellowed deeply from the other side of the room just as Hermione turned toward him.

 

“Sir?” Ron knew that tone.  Something important was happening and he was needed.  With one sickened glance back, he caught site of her pale cheeks and the tired looking eyes, rimmed in subtle shades of smoke and lilac.  She didn’t look well – definitely lacking in sleep which seemed odd when Ginny told him she had done nothing but.  The urge to wrap her in his arms was overwhelming, but time and circumstance held him back.

 

He forced his hand into his pockets to keep them occupied.  “Harry told me.  Are you alright?”  He knew it was a somewhat pointless question – for she obviously wasn’t alright – but he was at a loss for anything better to say.

 

Kingsley’s voice boomed out again, demanding attention.  “Weasley, I need you now.  My office.”  Ron waved at him with a nod of understanding.

 

“It’s fine Ron, go to your meeting.”  She spoke softly as if lacking the energy to do any better.

 

“But…”

 

She blinked slowly, her lids looking too heavy for her to keep up.  “I’m fine.  Go on.”  She tried to flash a smile, but it didn’t show in her eyes.  His hand slipped free of his pocket, the urge to touch her overwhelming any sense of restraint.

 

“We’ll talk later, alright?”  He dared to offer what he could – a supportive hand on her shoulder.  At least she didn’t flinch, but then again, she looked too tired to move, let alone rebuke any even remotely friendly advances.  

 

“Sure.”  Her eyes wavered and for a millisecond Ron considered that she might just fall asleep on her feet in front of him.  The urge to protect her, to care for her, mobilized in his limbs.  For a fraction of time, Ron considered an appropriate, friendly response, finally leaning forward to place a soft kiss on her forehead.

 

Her lips parted with a deep inhale in response, but then he noted her eyes dart over his shoulder and he heard the throat clearing itself.  Ron drew his lips back in an awkward smile and headed toward Kingsley’s office, glancing back twice to assure himself of her presence.  She disappeared into her office and he darted into Kingsley’s.

 

*** 

 

The look of pity on Ron’s face was indescribable.  Even thrilled as Hermione was to realize that he did indeed care, she couldn’t stand that look.  She knew that eventually someone – likely Ginny or Harry - would have told Ron, and she had even prepared herself for all of the caring looks and gestures of sympathy that would filter her way as the news made its way around her extended family.  She tumbled in a giant mixing pot that consisted of stars at the current freak show for the wizarding circus and the lead mourners at a dear friend’s funeral.  The reactions from the throng were becoming quite predictable.  First, the shocked look and the ‘how did you lose your magic?’ questions.  This was followed by the supportive gestures and assurances that all would be well.  ‘The Healers will figure it out.  You’ll be fine.’  Then, the final, and sickening looks of pity.  ‘Poor thing.  Just imagine, how will she cope?’  Even without the news fully circulating, she could hear the responses in her head and it made her want to scream.

 

Some psychological textbook probably had a name for this – a syndrome – some condition of the id and ego, or maybe it was just borderline depression.  For once in her life, Hermione had no desire to read up on it.  She just wanted to curl up into a ball and hide from the world.  That is, until she saw Ron’s face.  Ginny and Harry weren’t lying when they said that he still cared.  She had truly doubted them until just now.  His eyes narrated a story of unending friendship and perhaps more.  That brief moment brought her to the brink.  If Kingsley hadn’t called him away, she would have found herself soaking his robes in a barrage of tears.  She could be brave for everyone else, even herself, but not for him.  Ron’s eyes were like the sledgehammer that broke down all her walls.  She could rebuild them, but one look from him and they crumbled uselessly.

 

 Hermione walked into her office, her new office which had barely been used since obtaining the job.  Instead, she had spent three days in the hospital or in bed, poked, prodded and insulted.  She had a new respect for Muggles and Squibs alike.  Functioning without magic was difficult enough, but the overwhelming exhaustion wracking her body had been the most difficult to deal with.  It was hard to keep a clear head and focus on her malady when every bone felt ready to collapse.

 

Ginny did as promised and brought her in to St. Mungo’s the first day back.  She saw the Spell Damage Specialist that afternoon, but once again, he was baffled by her apparent lack of magic.  For the second time in as many days, it was suggested she see a psychiatrist as all her tests appeared normal.  If she had even an ounce more energy, she would have marched out of his office in disgust, but instead had to settle for a bit of internal brewing.

 

It was only frustrated anger and what was left of her adrenaline that gave her the means to come in to work this day.  John had become rather protective and she had to wait until he stepped out before she actually left for work or she was sure he would have stopped her.

 John’s voice replayed _.  You know the doctors said you should rest._  

But she was sick of resting.  ‘Resting’ consisted of lying awake in her bed, weighing a million and one life-altering scenarios or worse, actually dozing off only to wake in a sweat from the horrible visions in her dreams.  There was no ‘resting’ involved.  Only panic.

 

Perhaps, if she could just get to her office and collapse in her big office chair, the reading wouldn’t be so hard and she could skirt through another day without dwelling on all the awful possibilities that lay before her.  Hermione was running out of other options for sanity.  The crushing worry had to be eased and focusing on some criminal activity would have to be her comfort.  There was little else left. 

 

The heel of her hand brushed over a tear-filled eye and she puffed out a weary breath before sinking into her chair.  Flexing her hand to grip a quill, she noted how her arm was sore.  It felt bruised, just inside her elbow and she wondered the cause, but quickly dismissed it.  Luckily, her mind was still sharp, her memory in tact, and she buried herself in reading for the morning.  A soft tapping distracted her a while later and she offered a somewhat annoyed response. 

 

“Come in.”  Just looking up from her desk brought too many unpleasant thoughts.

 

“Miss Granger?” A hesitant, high-pitched voice preceded a head of strawberry-blonde hair around the edge of the door.

 

“Yes?”

 

The young woman smiled and stepped cautiously into the room.  “Hello.  My name is Rebecca.  Technically, I work for Mr. Shacklebolt, but he’s asked me to check…um…that is to see if there was anything that you needed.”  Her cheeks became just rosy enough that Hermione recognized a subtle sense of embarrassment.  At first she stiffened, thinking the word had spread to this woman and she braced for the results.

 

“Thank you, Rebecca, but no, I’m fine at the moment.”

 

“Could I get you some lunch?”  Rebecca smiled, no pity in sight.

 

Hermione glanced at the clock on the wall, only then realizing it was well past three in the afternoon.  For a moment she felt perplexed at her own body’s lack of response.  Usually her stomach acted as the perfect alarm clock.  Eleven thirty and it reminded her to eat.  However, the past several days, her appetite had dwindled somewhat dramatically.  Hermione convinced herself that it was all due to stress.

 

“Oh, um…no, thank you.  I’m really not hungry.”

 

“Well, if you think of anything, I just sit on the left, right across from Auror Weasley.”

 

Hermione felt the tips of her ears warm at the mention of her friend.  

 

“Thanks.”  Rebecca smiled faintly and walked out.

 

Hermione had no reason to feel guilty about her lack of contact with Ron.  After all, she had been ill for days.  But, this annoying little voice inside her head kept dancing around, spreading gossip in her brain:  the kind that said she would have avoided him a bit even without the convenience of an illness for an excuse.   

 

Avoiding him seemed the only protective thing to do.  Her emotions were too ravaged as is, too afraid of getting bruised any more, and her instincts were taking over - doing anything necessary to stay safe, to keep the fear of his rejection away.  What if she _were_ to fall into his arms and cry?  What if he were to pat her on the back and send her on her way while he played house with Miss July?  It would break her.  What little was left would be destroyed.  It was selfishness through and through.  She was only thinking of her own feelings, not his and the realization of this guilt was what brought on the rush of heat at the mention of his name.

 

Something stirred in her stomach and she hoped it was a return of hunger pangs, but her head knew it was an entirely different feeling.  She slowly pushed back from the desk, her legs stiff and achy.  Pressing her palms to the desktop, she stood up and walked to her door, telling herself she needed a good stretch and yet allowing her inner-most thoughts to open the door and peek around the corner.  Perhaps if this were really temporary, maybe things could be different.  He had looked genuinely concerned before, maybe a touch of something else.  She bit her lip, holding on to the tiniest thread of hope.

 

The mumbling from the other room was soft, several people at their desks, two robed Aurors standing in discussion at the back of the room.  She knew what her eyes wanted to see and glanced at the desk on the right, the one that held a nameplate with “Weasley” on it.  Empty.  Kingsley either called an extremely long meeting, or Ron had been shuffled off to perform other duties or – she swallowed thickly – he changed his mind about talking to her.

 

She could just turn around and return to her desk, read for another couple of hours and call it a day.  That would be the prudent thing to do and yet, her feet pushed her forward.  Pressing the door open just enough for her to pass, she slid through and casually walked into the larger room.  The two people at their desks remained attentive to their reading, but the two Aurors in the back snapped around to look at her, an instinctive kind of move.  Hermione had no doubt that their training had alerted them to the extra body in the room.  One offered her a nod while the other smiled briefly before going back to the conversation.

 

Hermione gave a one-handed wave, the corner of her mouth lifting in response.  Without delay her eyes flashed back to the nameplate on the desk and she continued forward, finally touching the corner of Ron’s desk.  With what she considered an indecent amount of curiosity, she scanned over the contents of his desk.  A large stack of file folders sat in a wire bin on the corner – she suspected it was his inbox.  Two bottles of ink, a rather worn quill, some pencils and some loose parchment sat in the other corner.

 

In the center, backing up to his nameplate, sat two framed pictures.  One, it appeared, had been taken at the most recent Christmas time and contained the whole Weasley clan – minus Fred, of course.  It moved with the usual charm of a magical photograph, his siblings waving and making silly gestures in a repetitious cycle.  The other photo, however, was clearly non-magical.  No movement, just the smile of three friends, their arms wrapped around each other, their smiles bright.  She grinned back at her own expression and that of Harry and Ron, each looking so pleased with each other.

 

She was about to pick it up when something else caught her attention. An envelope nestled between the photo frame and the nameplate.  Without even touching it, the fact that it had been handled often was apparent.  The stain of a million inky fingerprints smudged its surface, the edges of the envelope slightly curled, showing signs of frequent opening and closing.  She lifted it carefully, just enough to make out the address and her heart paused for a beat when she saw her own handwriting on the front.

 

It was her last letter to him.  Her hand stung like it had just been slapped while delving into the cookie jar without permission.  She slipped it back into the slot and stepped back, suddenly anxious about the other people in the room.  Had they seen her snooping around his desk?  Would they care?

 

A bulletin board mounted on the wall over his desk had a myriad of memos tacked to it and she smiled, noting a somewhat colorful ‘Get Well’ card and a recipe for “Molly’s Famous Cures-Anything Tea” written in what appeared to be Ginny’s handwriting.

 

“Hmph.”  She smiled at the idea of a tea that could cure anything.  If only it were that easy.

 

About to turn away, her eyes caught just a glimpse of something familiar and settled on a small scrap of paper tacked onto the corner of the board.  Written in a sloppy scrawl, she gazed at her own current address.

 

She frowned in a mix of confusion and delight.  She hadn’t received any letters from him, but maybe he planned on writing her or stopping in some time.  That hopeful thought was like a swift burst of energy and she started back toward her office.  The stack of reports welcomed her back, but she found herself unable to concentrate.  Each completed paragraph was punctuated by a glance up at the gift on her bookshelf and a quick daydream which required her to re-read said paragraph again.

 

By four o’clock she decided that her efforts were becoming fruitless.  She still hadn’t seen Ron.  Those words from the bulletin board repeated in her mind.  ‘Molly’s Famous Cures Anything Tea.’  Perhaps a quick visit to the Burrow might be in order.  It was true that Molly Weasley seemed to have a fix for just about anything that ailed you.  Besides, it would give her an excuse, as pathetic as it was, to increase her chances of running into a certain other Weasley that seemed to be interrupting her concentration.  

 

Grabbing her robes, she shuffled out of the Auror Department, her legs still stiff and a dull ache lingering in her head.  Focused only on her destination, she moved through the Ministry toward the Floo Stations on the main floor.  Up until this day she had never thought twice of stepping across the hearth, but a sickening feeling knotted her stomach as she wondered if traveling by Floo was even possible in her condition.

 

The mornings travel had consisted of a taxi ride and a brief walk to the visitor’s entrance, as the Floo at her flat wasn’t yet connected, but that would not be possible if she wished to get to the Burrow in any kind of timely fashion.  Standing frozen just feet from the nearest Floo, she recognized the stares of others as they politely waited for her to enter, but seeing no movement, shot her an irksome look and finally proceeded on their way.  After feeling the fourth set of arms brush by her, she sucked in a deep breath and plunged her hand into the Floo powder.

 

Standing in the Ministry during a typical rush hour meant that there was no hope of doing this without an audience.  Her mind began to formulate some kind of explanation that she could use if it didn’t work and she found herself left standing in the ashes.

 

  _God, I’m a squib!_  

 

The thought nearly crumpled her resolve, but she drew in what was left of her courage and stepped forward, calling out The Burrow as she tossed the powder with a bit more force than was necessary.  The familiar flames erupted around her and she released a breath.  However, doing so left her unprepared for the usual rush of movement that taxed her body and she stumbled quite obviously out of the fireplace at the Burrow a few seconds later.

 

 Unable to halt her forward momentum, she knocked the sofa table over and landed face first into a chair back.  Molly’s voice bellowed from the next room.

 

“What in the world….”  She took one confused look at Hermione before straightening her expression into her usual motherly affection.  “Hermione, dear!  Are you alright?”

 

Hermione realized her grip on the chair was beyond tight and she righted herself and forced out a smile, hoping it would be enough to placate the lady in front of her.

 

“Yes, Mrs. Weasley.  I’m sorry.  Just stumbled getting out of the Floo.”

 

“Oh, well, yes, that can happen.  When I was younger I felt like I had the grace of a Spider Monkey, constantly tripping in and out of the various hearths until I got a good feel for it.  It will come with time.”  It sounded as if Molly knew nothing of her situation and for a second she felt slightly relieved.

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

“Oh, now you know better than that.”  Molly thrust her hands on her hips and Hermione understood the reason without any more prompting.

 

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Weasley.  I’ve been away at school so long and with all the professors and that I’m just used to the formalities.”

 

“I understand.  You just need to spend a bit more time with us and you’ll be right as rain.”  She closed the gap, wrapping an around Hermione’s shoulders as she led her toward the kitchen.  “So, to what do I owe this surprise visit?”

 

“You mean, you haven’t heard?” Hermione asked hesitantly, sure that either Harry, Ginny or Ron had told her about the recent change in her condition and yet not wanting to assume.

 

The smile fell from Molly’s face.  “Oh, that. Yes, I’ve heard, but I’m certain you don’t want people to go around feeling sorry for you.”  Hermione was about to offer her rebuttal, but Molly cut her off.  “And I’m not going to be the one to start.  Now, I’m sure the Healers are going to figure it out very soon and all will be well.”

 

Somehow Molly’s tone offered assurances without the sympathetic edge and Hermione nodded.  “Do you have any idea what may be causing this?”

 

“Not really.”  Molly replied, a bit of sorrow in her expression.  “I’ve heard of cases of people losing their magic, but it was usually accompanied by _Cruciatus_ damage, a misapplied _Obliviate_ or a mental illness and…”

 

Molly seemed to look like she regretted saying that last statement and Hermione flashed back to the thrice repeated instructions from the Healers about seeing a psychologist.  One had actually suggested she intentionally Obliviate her mind from the time of the accident to present – his logic being that she would just forget she was ill and go back to normal.

 

Was she literally going insane?  Maybe those hits from Bellatrix LeStrange in Malfoy Manor were catching up to her.  Could she have long term _Cruciatus_ damage?

 

This just added to her worries and she gripped the back of the kitchen chair in defeat.  She flexed her arm, that sore spot flaring up again.

 

“We’ll figure it out.  Don’t worry.”  Molly smiled and gripped her hand.

 

Hermione wanted to believe her.  She was desperate to believe, but under that encouraging smile Molly’s eyes betrayed her.  The worry was quite evident.  With one final squeeze she headed toward the stove, shaking the kettle before filling it.  Hermione nearly fell into one of the kitchen chairs, her knees feeling unable to lock her in place any longer.

 

Molly must have noticed, but she didn’t say anything, just tossed a concerned look in her direction.  Within a minute, Hermione had a steaming cup of tea in front of her and she found herself chuckling.

 

“What’s so funny dear?”  Molly asked, sitting beside her with her own cup.

 

“Oh, just wondering if this is your Cures Anything Tea?”

 

That brought a smile to Molly’s face.  “Oh, I don’t know if it cures everything.  Hermione?” 

 

  _Why is the table moving? Oh, no._  

 

“Are you alright, dear?  Hermione!”

 

*** 

 

“Yes, sir?” Ron asked as he entered Kinglsey’s office, still feeling a bit perturbed at being drawn away from his encounter with Hermione.

 

“Sit down, please.” Kingsley directed as Ron surveyed the other attendees at this impromptu meeting.

 

The piercing green eyes that met his showed a sense of understanding.  Harry’s mouth curled up ever so slightly, his way to welcoming his friend while keeping his composure serious enough for the moment.  Ron slid into a chair beside his mate, still scanning the room and finding an unknown face.

 

“Auror Weasley, Auror Potter, this is Wilhelm Dietrich.  He is the Minister for Public Health in the W.E.U.”

 

The man, who appeared not much older than he, stood and offered a hand.  “You can call me Will.”

 

Ron rose slightly out of his seat to shake the man’s hand, Harry following immediately after.  They all settled back in their chairs, looking expectantly at Kingsley for the next move.

 

“We have some disturbing news.  Mr. Dietrich has informed me that a patient has escaped from the W.E.U.’s main psychiatric hospital.”  Kingsley spoke calmly, but exuded a sense of urgency that filled the air with pin prickles.

 

“Excuse me, but what is the W.E.U.?” Ron asked.

 

“The Wizarding European Union.  It’s a collection of European countries whose magical communities are working together for the betterment of wizarding society.”

 

The young man smiled, rather proudly, something that irked Ron who immediately considered the news of an escapee something not to be proud of.

 

Harry seemed to feel the same as his no-nonsense voice interrupted.  “Is this man dangerous?”

 

The smile fell from Mr. Deitrich’s face, probably due to the gauntlet of serious faces flanking him.  “Y-yes, he was considered dangerous.  He had just been released from the solitary ward after spending six months there for attempting to hex another patient.”

 

“Doesn’t sound like your facility is too secure if you have patients with access to wands.”  Harry interjected.

 

Mr. Deitrich’s skin suddenly turned ashen as he looked to Kingsley, a concerned and somewhat pleading expression erupting on his face.

 

Kingsley cleared his throat.  “This particular inmate has a history of trickery, theft and just plain evil tendencies.  He also has a connection to all of us.”

 

“What kind of connection?”  Harry asked, his eyes darting to Dietrich and back to Kingsley again.

 

Kingsley turned and picked up something off his desk, spinning back to hold it out toward Ron and Harry.  It was a photograph with a name written across the bottom.

 

Ron frowned, while Harry outright gasped upon seeing the familiarity of the name and the familial traits that shown in the eyes of this person and those of two others who had been a real thorn in their sides for years.  The room grew tense with silence, for every person recognized the danger that this man posed.

 

“Oh, fuck.”  Ron sighed.  “What do we do?”

 

The discussion continued for another hour with various plans formulating.  Harry moved quickly to put out a bulletin and picture of the man.  Mr. Deitrich headed home to inform the authorities in his jurisdiction.  Ron was given a stack of files with background information and patient records that he would need to review overnight.  First, however, he had to Portkey to Budapest and interview an aid at the hospital.  

 

Hermione’s weary eyes waltzed through his thoughts the entire day.  Every moment that he wasn’t taking notes, interrogating the wanker of an aid who let this man out or examining the facility, his thoughts were with her.  Finishing at five, he contemplated a quick trip back to Hermione’s flat.  However, he promised his mother that he would stop by the Burrow that evening so he shrunk the files, put them in his pocket and Apparated to the parlor of his parents’ home.  There would still be time to swing by Hermione’s flat afterwards.  Before he could take a single step, he heard a loud crash and moved quickly toward the kitchen. 

 

*** 

  _“Hermione?”_  

 

That name sounded familiar.  It tickled her thoughts, stirring her back to consciousness.  Two voices were speaking, one higher than the other: one panicked and high-pitched while the other rang deep and repetitive.

 

 “Hermione.”  

 

“Oh, my goodness, watch the broken tea cup,” the higher voice exclaimed.  She didn’t like this voice.  The deeper one was much more soothing.

 

“Wake up, Hermione.  Come on,” it repeated again, low and resonating, but the pitch had raised just enough that any conscious person would clearly hear the concern.

 

She felt something brush her cheek and then stroke the hair off of her forehead.  It felt good - sort of cool.

 

The higher voice was saying something about finding a Healer, but the lower one remained more calm and sure.  She felt eager to know who it was that needed help so desperately and struggled to open her eyes to inquire.

 

The bed she was lying on felt extremely hard and then suddenly she noticed a throbbing coming from the back of her head.  If it was going to hurt like this, then she would refuse to wake up.  Still, that voice kept calling her back and soon her eyes noticed the flicker of a candle.

 

“She’s waking up, Mum.”

 

“Oh, thank heavens.  She hit her head pretty hard when she fell.”

 

Before her eyes could fully adjust to the difference in light, she felt that same cool hand stroke her hair again and she couldn’t help the slight moan of appreciation that escaped her lips.

 

“Hermione, look at me.”  This time the voice was rather demanding, enough that she stopped thinking of the sharp pain in the back of her head.

 

Her eyes opened, but she immediately disagreed with that action.  Everything moved in a haze.  The deep voice was definitely attached to a shock of red hair and that fact seemed oddly reassuring.  However, the fact that two or three of this person’s faces were floating over her contributed to an incredible sense of nausea as she tried to sit up and she promptly rolled over and wretched up what little was in her stomach.

 

That same cool hand was now stroking her back and gathering her hair into a pony tail – far removed from the pool of nearly clear vomit on the floor.  With no food in her system, there wasn’t much to come up.  Still, the contractions in her stomach left her feeling even weaker than before and her arms buckled as she collapsed down to the carpet.

 

“She has to go to St. Mungo’s.”  The higher voice was getting kind of annoying, but she just couldn’t muster the energy to say anything.

 

“I know, I’ll take her.” The deeper voice continued, but it pitched up a bit.  “Alright, here we go.”  This time she felt something slipping under her shoulders and in the crook of her knees.  Her lids felt heavy and despite the desire to know who had her and where she was going, all her weary brain could register was that someone had just lifted her into the air.  Her head lolled back, sharply increasing the pain in her skull and neck and she heard someone moan, but it was difficult to concentrate on the source of the sound.  Just as quickly, her body shifted in toward something warm and her head tipped forward, chin down and tucked against a soft and woodsy smelling pillow.  It was so comfortable and she desperately wanted to sleep.

 

“Hermione, stay awake.  You’re going to be okay.  Come on, stay awake.”

 

But sleep was too tempting.

 


	7. Chapter 7 - In Case of Emergency

 

Ron stepped out of the Floo at St. Mungo’s, a nearly unconscious Hermione in his arms.  It didn’t take long before an observant attendant rushed over and directed him toward a nearby exam area.  He tensed against the dead weight draped in his arms, his brow etched in an emergent nature.  With as much care as possible, Ron laid her on the bed, gently cradling her head into the pillow.  Her angelic features, peaceful and porcelain, paled in comparison to their usual flushed brilliance.  The softness of her cheeks appeared replaced with a cold look of marble or ivory as if touching them would feel smooth and hard.  A grayish pallor shadowed the underside of her eyes, her soft brown lashes appearing painted on with perfect repetition.  

 

The knot in Ron’s stomach twisted a bit tighter.  Ever since the attack, the fear of loosing her once again had gnawed at him, his own guilt at having not stepped in on Harry’s behalf, somehow the cause of this tragedy slumped in his arms.  Those tense days following her departure seemed only days before, not years and he ached to talk to her – really talk to her – to find a way to help her and somehow resurrect the fire that had burned between them all those years ago.  The fact that another man had taken his place in her life seemed an insurmountable wedge that he couldn’t broach.

 

“She collapsed at my parents’ home.  My mother says she hit her head pretty hard on the floor and when she started to come around, she rolled over and vomited.”

 

“We’ll take care of her,” the attendant reassured and gestured toward the nearby desk.  “Can you give them some information on her and I’ll look her over.”

 

Ron nodded, glancing at her motionless form on the bed.  Even without magic, she was still his epitome of perfection.  The truest, most delicate rose, always tilting her head toward the light, the queen of all earth’s petals, soft and full of color, perfectly formed.  She filled his mind and desires completely – Diane and every other girl that had crossed his path withered in comparison.  Ron, on the other hand, felt like nothing but dirt - the lowest of earth’s accoutrements.  He could have been more insistent about school – could have told her how he couldn’t bear to have her leave.  Harry would have lived without him.  Accompanying her abroad would have assured their relationship and possibly, by now, they would be engaged or better.  It was only his weakness that ruined it all – turned him into that red, thick-headed clay that allowed nothing to grow, not even the good dirt.

 

A few hesitant strides brought him to the nearby registration desk.  A matronly lady smiled and nodded toward the chair.

 

“Patient’s name?” she asked, looking down at the parchment in front of her.

 

“Hermione Granger.”  His own voice sounded a bit unsure.  So, it didn’t surprise him when the lady tossed back a curious raised eyebrow.

 

“Her age?”

 

“Um…she’s…twenty two.”  The question seemed so inconsequential and yet so revealing.  Ron felt his fingers curl with an unprovoked anger, both at the absurdity of the question and at the shocking revelation that such a young life would find itself in peril.

 

“You’re sure?”  The lady examined him with the disappointing look of a professor who discovered you hadn’t done your homework.  Ron couldn’t help but look away for the briefest of moments, somehow awash with shame at not knowing this detail with absolute certainty on the first try.  Any true friend, any man who claimed to have such deep feelings for this woman should know every fact about her without hesitation.  True they were close in age and he actually knew her birthday if he thought for a moment.  Just the fact that he hesitated made him feel ashamed.  He vowed silently to never miss acknowledging another of her birthdays.

 

“What relation are you to the patient?”

 

“Relation?  Oh…I’m…a friend.”  The last word almost lodged in his throat.  Such a label didn’t befit the intensity of his feelings toward this woman and yet so many obstacles stood in the way that he’d have to settle for friend.

 

“I see.”  The lady shot a look toward Hermione and then a darker glower back at Ron, her eyes darting down toward Ron’s hands.  Ron immediately tensed, feeling strangely like he had just been accused, tried and sentenced by the old woman in front of him for something.  A few possible scenarios swam through his head and he considered that this woman might suspect him of some kind of abuse.  The suggestion caused his fist to tighten just a bit, but he quickly shrugged it off.

 

“And your name is?” she pointed her quill at the paper and waited for his response, her tone indicating a certain sense of distrust.

 

“Ronald Weasley.”

 

The lady must have recognized the name for her shocked expression floated from him to Hermione and back again.  Ron was starting to feel nauseated from all the head bobbing.

 

“Look, ma’am, I know that you know who I am and who she is.  Now, she needs some help so are you going to finish this up and let me get back to her or what?”

 

“Just fill the rest of this out.”  The lady pushed the parchment toward Ron.  He twisted it to face the right direction and grabbed the quill, quickly filling in what information he knew.  Only having visited her flat once, the address didn’t roll off the tip of his tongue, but he thought he had it right.  The form asked for an emergency contact and Ron was about to write down Hermione’s parents, when he remembered that they were in Italy.  The quill hovered for a second as he considered his options, but finally listed himself and moved on to fill out the rest of the form.  He pushed it back across the desk and stood to rejoin Hermione.

 

The exam area had a blue curtain pulled around it, but he could hear the shuffling of feet on the other side.  Gripping the curtain, Ron expected to find Hermione either awake or with a bandaged head – she had hit her skull pretty hard.  What he didn’t expect, and what he now absorbed with wide eyes, was a still unconscious Hermione, stripped down to a white lacy bra and matching knickers, lying prone on the table with four uniformed people exchanging heated words.

 

His first reaction was to look away.  Actually, that was a bit of a lie.  His first reaction, although brief, was to swallow roughly as he scanned the creamy expanse of skin that lay revealed to him.  Some sense of morals - or maybe it was the tiny bead of sweat tickling his forehead - forced him to look away and he would have just stepped back if it hadn’t been for the conversation going on around him.

 

“Alright, what else can we check?” the youngest of the four asked his colleagues.

 

“I’m not sure.  I can’t explain this,” replied the second.

 

“Can’t explain what?  And can you at least put a sheet over her?” Ron finally interjected, feeling a tingling rush of possessive terror on his skin.

 

“I’m sorry, is this your wife, Sir?”

 

“My w-wife?  No.”  He quickly pulled the sheet over her. “She’s a good friend of mine and just because she’s in the hospital doesn’t mean you all get to gawk at her naked body.  Now, what’s going on?”  Ron kept rotating focus over the four sets of eyes, waiting to meet one that would appear ready to give him an answer.  However, each looked confused, inept and now, due to his accusations, somewhat embarrassed.  He finally decided to help the conversation along.  “Look, I know she lost her magic.  She’s already been in here several times over it, but she’s never passed out like this – well, at least not since she was cursed.”

 

“She was cursed?”  All four voices rang together.

 

“Well…they’re not sure.  I mean…look, she was here.  Someone has to know her history.”

 

“She was here?” asked the oldest of the men.  “Who was the Healer that saw her?”

 

“I’m not sure, but you should talk to my sister, Ginny Weasley.  She’s up in Infectious Spells.  She can probably tell you something.”

 

The healer nodded to one of the others and he left the room.  Ron understood this to mean that he was going to see his sister shortly.

 

“Look, is she going to be alright?  You’re all being awfully secretive.”

 

“It’s not that, we’re all just a bit perplexed.  We’ve run every test we can think of and we’ve tried every spell to wake her up, but she’s just not responding.”

 

“She woke up before.”  Ron’s heart thudded heavily.  “Is she…is she in a coma or something?”

 

Even mentioning the word caused his chest to tighten, but he had to know what was going on and if they weren’t going to volunteer the information, then he’d have to ask.

 

“Come with me.”  The oldest Healer stepped around the curtain, drawing Ron to a set of chairs.  “Tell me everything you know about her.”

 

*** 

 

Her legs were burning up.  It was the only sensation her brain would process at the moment.  The heat filled her lower half, in direct contrast to the cool breeze that wafted over her arms and torso.  Her kicking motion was more instinct than conscious thought, her only aim to rid her legs of the warmth that covered them.

 

“Whoa!  I guess we’re hot,” spoke a male voice and it nearly startled her into consciousness for it seemed so close.  Still, she remained just on the brink, but unable to fully wake.

 

The breeze found her legs - instant relief her only thought.  Then another sensation drew her attention, but more as if she was dreaming than reality.  More warmth stroked her brow and over the top of her head, but this wasn’t as annoyingly hot, this felt soothing.

 

That voice spoke again and it resonated so deeply - even the warm humidity seemed to brush her cheek.  It had a definite sense of urgency that made her want to look, despite her body’s desire to remain asleep.  

 

“Hermione, you have to wake up.”  Then it turned to a whisper.  “Please.  Please wake up, Hermione.  I just got you back, I can’t lose you again.”  Something petal soft and moist brushed her forehead.

 

The heat returned to her legs, but it wasn’t so bad this time.  The voice moved farther away and although dreamlike, it sounded much clearer.  “If you’re hot, I’ll leave the blanket off, but we have to pull the sheet up.  I can’t have all these male Healers staring at those beautiful bared legs.”

 

Even though she knew it was all a dream, she had to smile at the comment.  What girl wouldn’t smile at a compliment like that, dream or not.

 

The voice chuckled and she felt deeply compelled to open her eyes, to see who dogged her dreams with such happy thoughts.  It was familiar and comforting. 

 

“I see that smile, Hermione.  Now come on and wake up.  I’ll stay here and talk all night if I have to.”  It wasn’t so much a threat as a dare.

 

She liked this voice, it aroused a sense of playfulness and family, but drifted through her ears without a sense of purpose, only comfort.  The pillow felt so soft and her head felt so heavy.  It kept drawing her down, down and away from the voice that she would otherwise love to hear and then all was quiet.

 

*** 

 

“She should just wake up.”  Hermione didn’t recognize this voice.  It wasn’t the wonderful smooth one from her last dream, the tone offered its own form of edginess as it continued.  “The man that stayed with her last night said that she reacted to him and even smiled.  There’s no reason for her to still be asleep.”

 

“You don’t know Hermione very well.  She’ll wake up when she’s good and ready and not a second before.”  

 

That voice she knew and with a sudden flash, the sound of her environment became sharp.

 

“Ginny?”  Hermione spoke softly and tried to open her eyes, the stream of yellow light forcing a series of repeated, blurry blinks as she tried to focus.

 

“Hey.”  Even through her somewhat thick vision, Hermione could make out the long red hair on the figure before her.  It flowed happily over a shoulder. Ginny turned toward another figure in the room and gave a sort of shrug.

 

“How are you feeling?” Ginny asked.

 

“Where…”

 

“St. Mungo’s, sweetie.  You collapsed at the Burrow.”

 

“I did?”  Hermione pressed her palms to the bed and attempted to lift herself up, but found it truly exhausting.  Ginny immediately tried to help, lifting her pillow and slipping an arm around her shoulders.

 

“There, is that better?”

 

“Yes, thank you.”  The other person in the room wore a blue smock-like pull-over – she recognized the Healer uniform.  “Um…how long have I been here?”

 

“A day.  We’ve been waiting for you to wake up.  Do you remember what happened at all?”

 

“Um…not really…I was having tea with your mum and…well…I don’t remember much else.  My head was sore and then somebody picked me up.”

 

“Yes, sweetie, that was…”

 

Just then the door to the room burst open capturing everyone’s attention.  John’s eyes were wide with worry as he scanned the room and quickly settled on hers.  Harry peaked over his shoulder from the doorway and offered a satisfied smile.  It only took a few strides and John wedged the healer aside and reached for Hermione’s hand.

 

“Hermione.  Oh, my god.  I was so worried.  I’ve been looking everywhere for you!  Are you alright?”

 

“Um…”  Hermione found herself speechless at seeing her Muggle boyfriend sitting beside her in a magical hospital.  The questions spinning through her mind were interrupting all thoughts of speech.

 

“What’s wrong with her?” he demanded of the healer who had stepped to the side and was now standing with his arms crossed showing a slightly contemptuous expression.

 

“John…how did you?”

 

Ginny cut in.  “I sent Harry to go find him.”

 

For some unfathomable reason, Hermione felt like jumping up from the bed and stabbing Ginny through the heart, but the thought was fleeting.  The caring smile told her that, as always, Ginny was trying to look out for her.  Still, if she were alone and had a bit more energy, the nature of her words might have been more interrogative and less thankful.

 

“Oh, I see.”  Hermione half-smiled at her friend.  John had a firm grip on her hand and caressed the lower half of her arm and her wrist in a persistent, almost frenzied pattern.  Meant to be soothing, it only heightened her nerves and she withdrew her hand, feigning an itch on her shoulder.

 

“So, is someone going to tell me what’s going on?” John asked, his voice growing in timber and volume.

 

The Healer’s stance, a sort of parade-rest position, spoke louder than his words.  “I need to speak with Miss Granger alone.”  
  
”I don’t think so.  What’s your name?  You can say whatever it is you have to say in front of me.”  John demanded, his brown fringe shifting.

 

“Healer Rockwell,” the smocked man replied.

 

Ginny’s eyes flashed back and forth between John and Hermione, clearly surprised by his unyielding attitude and obviously wondering about Hermione’s response.

 

“John…I think I’ll be fine.  It might be best if you leave…for now.”

 

John pressed his lips into a thin hard line and seemed to be repressing some other emotion than the nurturing one that he outwardly presented, but he relaxed just as quickly.  Hermione wasn’t sure why he seemed so upset, but had to assume it was just worry. “Sure baby, I’ll just wait outside.”  He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, his eyes now soft and loving as he smiled at her.

 

Hermione hadn’t noticed, but Harry had remained at the door, simply observing, but now stepped out of the room and held the door open as John followed.  Ginny patted her hand and began to leave as well, but Hermione pulled her back.

 

“Can she stay?” Hermione asked the Healer, clearly contradicting her own request, but suddenly needing her friend’s support.

 

“If you wish.”

 

Ginny offered another sympathetic smile and sat down in the side chair.

 

The Healer, whose stance up until now had seemed rather annoyed, softened immediately and he approached the side of her bed.

 

“I think we may have found the reason why you passed out.”

 

Hermione nodded in expectation.  

 

“We ran all the usual tests and everything came back normal, but we decided to try one more, rather rare, test to count your nuclidites and found they are extremely low.”

 

“Nuclidites?” Hermione asked.

 

“Yes, they are the cells that contain the magic in your body.  Everyone has them, even Muggles, but at a low level.  Pure-blood wizards and witches tend to have the highest counts, but even half-bloods and some Muggleborn witches and wizards will have higher levels.”

 

“So, someone who’s a Squib?” Hermione asked.

 

“Has a very low level and hence, is unable to perform most magic.  However, they still have more than a typical Muggle.”

 

“What’s the typical level for a Muggle?” 

 

“About fifty to sixty.”

 

“And what am I?”  Hermione felt her heart race in anticipation of his answer and felt Ginny’s hand slip over her arm.  The fear of something life altering rested on this man’s lips and she studied his eyes, searching for some sign of assurance or finality, anything that would help her prepare for his next words.

 

“You have thirty two.”

 

You could have told her she had thirty two minutes to live for her breathing ramped up to match her racing heart.  Her eyes squinted as an immediate crushing sensation overtook her chest.  “Wh-wh-what does that mean?” she eeked out, the fear evident in her voice.  Even Ginny gulped and squeezed her arm a bit tighter.

 

“It means that something or someone has basically stripped you of your magic.”

 

Hermione struggled to keep it together, but noting the tragic expression on Ginny’s face, her resolve crumbled and the tears began to flow.

 

“It’s alright, Hermione.  We still love you.”  Ginny declared, her tone reassuring and yet nearly in tears herself.  “Can something be done to correct this?”  Ginny asked as Hermione seemed beyond words, gasping in a tear-filled breath.

 

The Healer walked to the other side of the bed as if to offer his own sympathy in the shadow of such dire news.

 

“This is extremely rare.  It is highly unlikely that this is the result of an indirect spell, such as Cruciatus damage.  Your numbers are too low for that.  There were a few cases of stripped magic about twenty years ago and it took nearly three years of investigative work to find out the spell that had been used.  It was immediately outlawed, stricken from all text books and barred from all learning institutions.  Sharing the spell brought a death sentence. The Ministry was very serious about it.  We haven’t seen anything since.”  He paused, examining the two women uncomfortably.  “Um…I don’t know that much about it, but from what I’ve managed to find, you can rebuild stripped magic with a blood-transfusion from a matched blood-type and matched magical type donor in combination with some rather intricate potions that bond the magic.”

 

“See, Hermione?  There’s a way to fix this.”  Ginny offered, but the man seemed to shake his head almost imperceptibly at her suggestion, as if waving her off from the present course.  Hermione wiped her eyes with a trembling hand.

 

“The problem is that it is very difficult to match both types and, unfortunately, you have a rare blood-type on top of it all.”

 

“But, there’s hope?” Hermione stuttered out, her breathing labored, a look a sheer terror on her face.

 

“Of course there is!”  Ginny nearly cried out, clearly determined to prove with absolute certainty her resolve at finding a match for her friend.

 

“We can start to look for donors, but there’s another complication.”

 

“What?” Ginny asked, for Hermione appeared breathless.

 

“The donor must be a pure-blood for they have the highest count of nuclidites.  Apparently, not all of the cells will bind and so we need a high enough count to be successful.  You won’t get enough from a half-blood.  And you should be prepared for the fact that this may take a while and…well…it’s possible that your symptoms may worsen the longer you wait.”

 

Hermione could barely speak the words, but she had to know.  “What’s going to happen to me if we don’t find a donor?”

 

“If…if your count remains steady, you would live, but you would never be able to do magic and could never have magical children, even with a pure-blood wizard.  You’d still have squibs, but you’d live, although you’d be very tired all of the time.  If your count drops, you may…”

 

Hermione’s eyes were beyond wide with panic, a visible tremble in her hands.  “Wh-what?”

 

The Healer darted a look to Ginny as if preparing both of them for something horrible.  Ginny squeezed Hermione’s arm a bit tighter, but neither woman took their eyes off the healer.

 

“You’ll get even weaker.  You may have issues with maintaining your body temperature.  It’s possible your hair could fall out.  You may become more susceptible to certain diseases.  Sometimes there are vision problems and other things.  If it gets too low…” he hesitated and swallowed “…it could kill you.”

 

“How long?”  Hermione stammered, her heart pounding in terror and yet determined to get all the facts.

 

“Hard to say.  I don’t have much research available to me.  Months?  Weeks?  But, it is possible that you may stabilize.  I understand this happened a few days ago?”  Hermione nodded.  “I wish we knew what your level was then.  Then we’d know if you had remained stable or dropped.  You’ll need to come back here every couple of days and get retested.”

 

*** 

 

Hermione promised to return two days later to get tested again.  Ginny immediately offered herself to get tested, but her blood-type was eliminated as incompatible.  She assured the Healers that she would stop in and check on Hermione in the meantime.  Twice she suggested that Hermione come to stay with her and Harry.  The house was more than roomy enough and with Ginny’s medical training, it would behoove Hermione to accept.

 

However, Hermione’s stubbornness remained as she politely refused.  She may be weak in body, but her mind was sharp and her determination remained strong.  Her own bed sounded more inviting and then, of course, she felt like a huge imposition.  Being at home, she’d at least have her own things around her.  And she’d have some peace.  John told her he had found a place to live and would be moving soon.  That thought made her own flat even more enticing.  She needed time to absorb all of this, to possibly make plans, unpleasant ones.  There was also the fact that her flat was much closer to her parent’s home and much more easily accessible than Harry’s mansion.  She’d have to leave them a message as soon as she got home.

 

John insisted on getting her home, despite Harry’s offers of assistance.  Wrapping his arm around her shaky frame, John escorted her out of the room and down the hall.  At the end of the corridor, green flames flared out from the Floo and Ron stepped out into the waiting area having darted home for a quick shower.  John glanced over his shoulder at the noise and met Ron’s concerned gaze with a rather possessive glare before steering Hermione the other direction.  Ron tensed, swallowing down several years of guilt as he watched them leave.  Just as always, he was too late.

 

*** 

 

It still felt odd taking Muggle transportation everywhere, but soon she stood at the door to her flat, John’s hand pushing her along gently, slipping the silver key in a new and very shiny lock.

 

“You put a new lock on the door?” she asked as he turned the key and pushed it open.

 

“Yeah.  I told you I would.  Have to be safe, especially if you’re home alone and not feeling well.”

 

She guessed that made sense and in a way she appreciated the gesture.  “I suppose you’re right.”

 

Shuffling into the flat, most of the boxes now sat empty, stacked on one another or broken down and slid flat against the wall.  It was surprising how nice the place looked, pictures on the wall and everything.  John quickly pulled the door to the spare room closed.  Hermione just assumed it had become the catch all room, probably a mess with items needing a home.

 

“Wow.  Did you do all this?” she asked, walking into the kitchen and checking the fridge which appeared somewhat stocked.  She’d have to thank him for that as well.

 

“Yeah, babe.”  He turned to lock the door.  Hearing a continued jingle of metal, she glanced back and noted there were a series of at least three other chains, bolts and security devices on the back of her door.

 

“Boy, you are awfully safety minded.  Isn’t that a bit much?  It’s not like I live in a war zone.”

 

“Can never be too safe.”  

 

“I feel kind of bad with you doing all my unpacking and then you have to move yourself into your new place.  It’s a lot of work.”  He smiled briefly and walked over toward her, gripping her waist and pushing her across the room.

 

“Where are we going?” she asked, thinking him just being playful, but then growing annoyed as he continued to usher her toward the bedroom.

 

“I just assumed you’d want to change and rest while I make us dinner.”

 

“I’m really not tired.” She complained, crossing the threshold into her room.  Even with a low magic count, twenty six hours of continuous sleep left her wide awake at the moment.

 

“Alright, but you really could use a shower.”

 

Hermione somehow felt affronted and paused to sniff her robes wondering if she had unknowingly landed in something offensive when she passed out, and something did smell a bit sour.  Plus, the suggestion of a warm shower sounded relaxing.  She sat down on the end of the bed as John, once again, checked the lock on her window and pulled the already closed curtain a bit tighter.  It was dark outside and she wondered what closing the curtains would accomplish with her on the third floor of the building and her bedroom facing a blank brick wall of the neighboring structure.

 

For some reason, John seemed in a hurry and Hermione furrowed her brow at his actions.  He stopped at the side of the bed and reached out a hand.

 

“Give me your robes.”

 

“What?”

 

Again, his eyes flashed with just that hint of anger.  “You’re going to shower, aren’t you?  Give me your robes.”  He thrust his hand out again.

 

Hermione reached up slowly, unclasping the hook.  “Why do you need them?”

 

“Laundry, of course.”  His face remained blank, only his eyes burning with some kind of urgency she couldn’t quite fathom.

 

She slipped out of the robes and handed them over.  Then, as if never having been even remotely annoyed, he smiled, kissed her on the cheek and sniffed her hair, stepping back abruptly.  “Have a nice shower.  I’ll be back.”

 

He closed the door and Hermione reached for a lock of her hair, pulling the tip toward her nose to examine it herself.  It held the same vanilla smell it always did.  She shrugged and began to strip, laying her clothes on the bed neatly and stepping into the bathroom.  Flipping on the spray, she paused to examine herself in the mirror as the water heated.  She did look tired.  Her face appeared patchy, her complexion uneven and her eyes radiated weariness.  But, otherwise, she appeared the same.  Stepping into the shower, the rush of hot water eased her joints and she leaned against the tile, accepting the relief like welcoming an old friend.  Ducking under the spray, the heat cascaded over her face and she quickly wiped it away, blinking to find her favorite vanilla shampoo.  Something about that scent made her relax.

 

Not finding the familiar blue bottle, she searched her memory, trying to recall if she had run out and forgotten to pick up more.  She was sure at least half a bottle had remained.  Picking up a white container, she squinted at the brand, not recognizing it.  Something having to do with fruits of the forest and she spun the cap and took a sniff. 

 

  _It must be John’s._

It wasn’t her favorite vanilla, but it seemed fine and she squeezed out a dollop into her palm, quickly massaging it into her scalp.

 

The Healer’s words returned and she hesitantly brought her soapy hands down, half expecting to see them covered in gobs of hair, but luckily they were only coated in white bubbles.  With a sigh of gratitude to her body, she finished her shampoo, washed her body and stepped out, wrapping herself in a thick blue towel and another around her head.

 

The shower had helped and now she just wanted to put on her old flannel pajamas, curl up in her bed, read until she felt sleepy, dream of something pleasant and wake up last week.  She sighed in realization that she might be able to accomplish two or three of her goals.

 

Stepping into the bedroom she noted something white lying across her bed and moved closer to investigate.  It was lingerie.  She frowned, trying to understand where it had come from.  She dragged a finger against the lacy hem on the white satin nightgown and looked around her room, somehow expecting to find herself in a hotel or someplace other than home.  

 

“Baby?  You out of the shower?” called John’s voice from the other room.

 

“Y-Yes,” she replied somewhat distractedly.

 

“I bought you a little present.  It’s on the bed.”  His voice appeared a bit closer.

 

“I can see that.”

 

Now his voice was directly opposite her door.  “Do you like it?”

 

She shivered.  Perhaps it was just the whirl of the fan in her room cooling her damp skin, but she suspected it had something to do with the proximity of John’s voice.  For a second, she wished John had installed a lock on her bedroom door as well for she’d like to use it at the moment.

 

“It’s very nice, John.”  Her eyes darted to her closet with the intent of grabbing her yellow terry dressing gown that rested on the hook inside the door.  Something told her that he was going to come in and she certainly didn’t want to be found standing in nothing but a towel.  Their relationship hadn’t reached quite that level of intimacy.  With as much speed as she could muster, she made her way to the closet and slipped the gown on her arms.

 

Her stomach jerked with the sound of the doorknob turning and she spun around to face him, clutching the sides of the gown together, her blue towel falling underneath to pool at her feet.

 

His smile looked innocent enough, but his eyes flashed with a greater intensity.  She couldn’t help the fact that her breathing had notched up a degree, but she tried to act casual.

 

“You feel better now?” he asked, stepping slowly into the room. He moved with the prowess of a large cat on the hunt, slow and deliberate, his eyes always on the goal and yet, masquerading as the most innocent kitten.  

 

In the first weeks she had known him, that look, that walk had seemed enticing and exciting for her.  His charm radiated, washing out any shadows of deceit, but recently, it had begun to make her uneasy.  She shifted slightly and swallowed hard.  “Yes, thank you.  Could you just excuse me while I get dressed?”

 

“Sure, sweetie.”  Yet, he still approached, his voice smooth and low.  “I can’t wait to see the gown on you.”  Pausing directly in front of her, he stroked the back of his hand over her cheek and she shivered in response.  It wasn’t the pleasant shiver, but the sharp cold sting of doubt.  She tried to smile, only managing to curl one corner of lip to mask her body’s jerk, but was sure it looked false.  Her insides seemed to be flipping between some odd combination of lustful intrigue and terror-filled retreat.  

 

His eyes bore into hers, dark and mysterious.  “You are so beautiful, Hermione.  You deserve lots of nice things and I figured after the horrible week you’ve had, that you might appreciate something special.”  He accented the last word with a glance down at her chest.  He seemed to take his time ogling her body, as if completely guiltless of taking such liberties.

 

Hermione felt a million pins and needles follow his gaze down her torso as he slowly bent down in front of her.  Her pulse raced even faster and she stuttered in a breath, unable to exhale.

 

  _What is he doing? Oh, God._

Somehow she felt as if she were having some out of body experience – like in the movies – where the girl hears a strange noise and goes to investigate, the creepy music grows and you just know something horrible is about to happen to her and then suddenly the pet cat jumps out and she grabs her heart exclaiming something rude at the cat who hadn’t committed any crime, except perhaps catching a rouge mouse.  Just as the audience exhales, the cold-blooded killer steps out of the shadow and slashes the girl’s throat. 

 

The question that hung in the air was did John hold a knife or a mouse.

 

He pinched the damp towel from around her feet and stood back up, his eyes still on her.  “I’ll just toss this in the laundry.”

 

  _The mouse, the mouse_.  

Sheexhaled quite audibly.  

Hermione nodded, trying to camouflage her racing heartbeat.  He winked at her.  “Come show me the nightgown and I’ll pour us some wine and we can talk.”

 

“John, I’d rather just put on my flannel pajamas and go to sleep.”

 

“You just said you weren’t tired.”  His voice indicated a definite sense of annoyance.

 

“I’m not…I mean, I’d just feel more relaxed in my own pajamas.”

 

“Fine.  Just try it on then to check the size.”  He raised his eyebrows innocently.  “Please?  I spent a lot of time picking it out just so you’d have something special.  It would mean a lot to me.”

 

He turned to exit the room, speaking as he went.  “Dinner will be ready in a few.”  The door clicked and Hermione’s already wobbly knees gave out.  Luckily, a nearby chair was there to catch her descent.

 

_This is stupid, Hermione.  Why are you so afraid of him?  There’s nothing to fear.  He’s just helping with the laundry and he unpacked everything.  He’ll be gone soon._

 

It took a few moments for her to regain her composure, but when she did her mind was set.  She was going to thank him for his consideration, but she would return the gift.   Magic or not, she still had an ample share of stubbornness and determination, both of which could be just as lethal in any argument as a wand.  Being weak in body did not make her weak in mind.  That was something she kept and intended on using.  After several minutes of pacing, she had practiced enough phrases and scenarios that she felt confident enough to confront him.  

 

Beautiful or not, it was just not appropriate for her to accept his gift and instead, she searched her bureau drawers for a pair of more conservative pajamas.  She would just kindly explain that, although lovely, she could not accept the gift.

 

 However, after rifling through all the drawers more than once, she couldn’t find a single set of pajamas.  All of her other clothes appeared to be there, but no pajamas.  Pulling out a t-shirt and some shorts, she changed and put the dressing gown back over the top, synching it securely at her waist before picking up the nightgown and walking into the next room.

“John, have you seen…”  She didn’t see him.  “John?”

 

A moment later he emerged from the spare room maintaining an expression akin to a deer caught in the headlights.  “Yeah, babe?”

 

“What are you doing?”

 

He pulled the door closed.  “Oh, um…just setting up my things.”  He glanced at the white silk in her hand.  “Aren’t you going to try it on?”

 

“Your things?”  she questioned, her mind focused solely on his previous statement.

 

“Yeah, my bed and all that.”

 

“You said you had found a flat and were moving.”

 

“Moving?  Now?  What kind of person would I be to leave you when you’re ill?  I swore that I’d take care of you and I will.”

 

“But…what about your cousin and all that?”

 

“He’ll understand.”  He walked over to her, placing his hands on her upper arms.  “I wouldn’t leave you in your time of need.”  He kissed her forehead and twisted her around to face her bedroom door.  “Now, go try on that gown for me.”  He swatted her arse forcing Hermione to lurch forward before he walked away.

 

Hermione went numb.  At no time had she been prepared for this and her mind stumbled to formulate a reply that dealt with both his gift and his desire to live with her.

 

She turned.  “John, I just….I can’t accept this.”  And by this, she meant both the living arrangement and the gift, but being flustered she didn’t realize how he might understand her response.  She hoped her voice sounded sure and firm and that he would take his things and go.

 

“Why?  I got the right size – unless you’ve suddenly packed on some pudge with all this laying around.”  Hermione couldn’t believe the impact of his masked insult – how he could say something to cut her down and smile at the same time with the innocence of a three year-old.  

 

“I appreciate the gift.  I do.  I just don’t feel that we are at a point in our relationship for you to be purchasing me lingerie and I’d rather be in my own pajamas.”

 

“Fine.”  He snapped, his voice suddenly loud and curt as he jerked the garment out of her hand.  “I’ll return it.”

 

Hermione flinched at his outburst, startled into silence for a few seconds.  

 

“I’m feeling pretty unappreciated here, Hermione.”  He moved quickly toward her and at first Hermione backed up a step, her mind instinctively searching for her wand, only realizing her futile thoughts milliseconds before he reached her.  Her heart raced with helpless speed as he brushed her shoulder, pressing her into the door jamb.

 

The bump caused her head to knock against the frame, her hand darting upward to cradle the spot.  John’s face was nose to nose with hers, his body pressing against her as he shook a fist enclosed with white satin.

 

“I’ve unpacked everything for you, put new locks on your door, lent you money, brought you home from the hospital.  What have you done for me, huh?”  His face began to contort with anger, his skin flushed, blue veins popping up on the arm that clenched the garment, sitting threateningly near her face.

 

Before loosing her courage, Hermione argued back.  “And I told you, I-I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I didn’t ask you to do it!”

 

“Yeah, well, I did and I think I deserve something a little better than this.  You aren’t some big special _witch_ now.  You’re just a regular, ordinary woman who happens to be sick.”  He chuckled and turned, still ranting.  “You think anyone else is going to take care of you now?  Your magical friends?  Ha!  They won’t care.  Ginny may come around for a while out of pity, but that’s it.  Your friend Ron whom you seem to talk so highly of…where is he?  Has he come around once?  Did he even bother to visit you in the hospital?  Was he there to help you?”  Each question made Hermione’s heart pause as if the blood had stopped flowing in that second.  She didn’t want to believe it, but the truth was right there.

 

“No! You aren’t one of them anymore!  Do you understand?  You’re one of _me_ now!”

 

“My parents…”

 

“Your parents?”  He turned, pacing the room as he continued.  “Oh, well, now you’ll just be a big disappointment to them.  They have their own life now.  They raised you and then shipped you off to that stupid magical boarding school for freaks of nature.  You’ve moved away.  You think they want to spend all their time taking care of an invalid?”

 

“I’m not a disappointment to them!”  That was one thing she was sure of and she held on to that one thought even as her eyes blurred with moisture.

 

“You will be when they find out you wasted all that magical education.  Where will you work now?  You can’t keep your job in a magical society when you don’t have magic!  You have no means of support!  And yet, here I am, still with you.  Buying food and keeping you going out of the goodness of my heart!”

 

He walked stiffly toward her and Hermione countered instantly, backing into the living room, but he kept moving and she bumped into the sofa and toppled over the edge, landing on her back.

 

“And what do I get in return?”  Following her over, his knee pressed into the cushion between her legs and she found herself inches from his face, his rage-filled breath hot on her face, his eyes black with emptiness.  “HUH?”  He yelled into her face and she remained mute, unable to think, her mind faced with the awful truths he had just uttered.

 

“You ask me to leave.  I just think, instead, a thank you might be in order,” he declared flatly and with a certain degree of menace.  His fist slammed into the cushion beside her head causing Hermione to yelp out the tiniest squeak in fear before he grunted in rage and stood up.

 

She had never seen him so angry – never!  It was his words, however, than truly stung more than anything.  He had just voiced every one of her fears and they were all slamming down upon her with enough force to cripple even the staunchest determination.

 

“I have to return a fucking nightgown.”  He mumbled loudly as the sound of several locks popped and clanged and then suddenly the door slammed shut and she heard a key engaging on the other side.

 

Hermione trembled, the adrenaline rushing through her system giving her the first flash of normalcy in days, but just as quickly it faded.  It was as if this one encounter had used up what was left of her strength.  She gasped out several breaths, each one taking with it her determination, her strength and what was left of her hope.  The tears soon took over.  She tried to stand and found it nearly impossible, finally half stumbling, half crawling to her bed.  With her last bit of energy, she crawled on top and wept.  All that remained of her – a sobbing, worthless, invalid.


	8. Chapter 8 - Begotten of the Father

  
Author's notes:

Thank you SO much for all the lovely comments and reviews!  They mean the WORLD to me!  Also, a big thanks to Indie for her fantastic beta skills and missgranger2 for her opinions and late night pep talks.  This chapter has a little background info, but never fear...we'll be back to the action soon!  Enjoy.

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_Fourteen years earlier_   

 

The landed fish flopped around on the table, its gills stressing open and closed.  The little boy studied it, looking closely into its one upturned eye, curious if a fish could understand its own mortality.

 

“I wonder if you’ll swim crooked if you only have one eye.”

 

He cocked his head to the side, flipping the fish over to its other side with the flick of his finger.  With cold intent, he smirked at the nearby cup and lifted out a pencil, casually slipping it into the nearby sharpener.  The whirl of the machine ran like a death toll to the tiny defenseless fish, but the boy only eyed it with menacing interest.  Pressing a finger against the tail fins, he pressed the tip of the lead to the floundering creature’s eye.

 

“Jack!  Dinner time!”  His mother called from downstairs.  “It’s your favorite!”

 

“Oh, goodie!” he yelled, dropping the pencil and quickly tossing the fish into the tank before darting out of his room and down the steps.  Before reaching the landing, his instincts brought him to a halt, all senses functioning at a super-sensitive level.  The reaction was born out of years of confrontation with the man married to his mother.  To call him a father would be ludicrous.  He lived in their house, he ate their food and yes, his somewhat forced donation of sperm had resulted in Jack’s being, but he wasn’t a father.

 

For all intensive purposes, he was a bully.  But, he was the kind that could mask his true nature with the smoothest, most beguiling charm, fooling even the wisest of police detectives, attorneys and doctors.  His smile, warm and soft, the most loving and gentle one moment, could transform into an immediate sentence of pain.  He’d seen it, not so much with himself, but with his mother.

 

Not hearing the low male voice that indicated his presence, Jack cautiously took the last step and walked slowly toward the kitchen, his stocking feet sliding along the wooden floors and past the oak grandfather clock.  It read four fifty.  The chimes wouldn’t go off for another ten minutes.  Those haunting chimes that announced the man’s impending arrival.  He was hungry and his mom said it was his favorite, but fear could quash even the emptiest of stomachs.  Still, he should have at least ten minutes to eat and clear out to the remote safety of his room. 

 

That was a fantasy, for his room was no safer than any other in the house, except that it put Jack out of the man’s vision and hence, off the radar when it came to his sudden outbursts.

 

The bright lights of the kitchen illuminated the white cabinets and floor and the familiar form of his mother’s back, the pink apron tied around her waist as she stood before the stove.  Her long wavy brown hair was tied neatly in a bun – her usual style.

 

“Are you hungry?” she asked in the sweetest, most motherly voice anyone could imagine.

 

He nodded silently, knowing his mother would still understand, even with her back to him.  They had a sort of telepathy between them. 

 

“Sit down and eat quickly before Father gets home, then go up and finish your homework.” She smiled sweetly, her brown eyes soft and profile appearing completely normal as she scooped up his favorite spaghetti onto the sparkling white china.

 

Living in his house was like existing in some kind of stain-free, bacteria-free asylum.  The rooms always sparkled, a speck of dust not daring to make an appearance for fear of being trounced by his mother’s unending cycle of maintenance.  He got away with the tiniest bit of clutter in his own room, but even that didn’t last long, especially if the man decided to make a surprise inspection.

 

Jack ate quickly, keeping one eye on the clock and one on his mother, finally noting the bruise across the other cheek and trying to determine if she felt relaxed tonight or not.  Relaxed could mean two things; either she had spoken to the man today and his mood conveyed the potential for a quiet, even pleasant evening, or, she was totally unaware of the horrors that might walk through the door at five o’clock.  Anything could set him off, an unstocked refrigerator, disorganization, dirt anywhere, an unpleasant tone in her voice or, the sure fire way, any back talk. 

 

Jack wolfed down the last bite and swallowed his milk, his eyes darting to his mother’s in an unspoken warning.  He had to go.  Their connection expanded beyond the usual levels of communication.  Not only could Jack sense his mother’s thoughts, he tensed when she felt stress, he fell into depression when she was sad and he could almost feel her physical pain.  And the pain came often.  When he was younger, he would cry, clutching the blanket in his room as the screams echoed throughout the house, the stings of the man’s words hitting him almost as fervently as the blows from the man’s hand.

 

Now, however, his senses had dulled.  He’d learned to turn off the pain and instead began filtering it through others.  First, inanimate objects took the brunt of his emotions, but he was now moving on to insects, frogs, mice…any unsuspecting creature he could capture.

 

Jack ran to his room, closed and locked the door, looking it over for a quick cleaning job as he listened for the front door to open.  Moments later he heard the latch of the door and low rumblings of the man’s deep voice.  It didn’t sound angry, but Jack kept listening, for it could turn at any time.  Instead he heard something unusual.

 

“Jack, come down here.  I have a surprise for you.”

 

  _A surprise?_  

 

Jack wasn’t sure if that was good news or bad, but he dared not procrastinate in his response.  He unlocked the door, smoothed his shirt and walked as quietly as possible down the stairs.

 

“You called, Father?” he asked in his most pleasant, obedient tone.

 

His mother stood just feet away, holding a towel and looking curious herself.  At least she wasn’t crying or screaming and the man looked happy.  This could end up being a good evening for a change.  Jack let out a small sigh.

 

“We closed the Martinson merger today and my boss invited a bunch of our families to the lake for the weekend to celebrate.  So, pack up a bag. We’re leaving in the morning.”

 

He smiled at Jack, expecting a reply and Jack knew not to keep him waiting.  “That’s great news, Father.  I’ll start packing right away.”

 

“Good man!”  But before Jack could even turn on the steps, the man looked at his mother and frowned, pointing a finger at her face – more specifically – at the now purple and yellow haze that graced her cheek.  “Put some makeup on that.  Do you want to embarrass me in front of my boss?  What’s for dinner?  I’m starving!”  He marched toward the kitchen.  Jack’s mother brushed a finger across the still tender mark on her cheek and then glanced at Jack sending her instructions to pack quickly and she scurried off after him to put dinner on the table.

 

Probably because the man knew he would have to take his perfect family out in public the next day, he kept his temper in check for the evening.  It was the quietest night Jack had ever experienced and he actually slept fairly well. 

 

The next morning, they piled into the sedan and headed for the lake.  His mother kept a pair of sunglasses on most of the day, hiding what she was unable to mask with her make-up.  They drove for quite a while and finally pulled onto an uneven road that wound for about half a mile through some tall pine trees, coming out in front of a set of several quaint cabins.  Each looked of the same design, but in a rainbow of colors, like the perfect suburban neighborhood.

 

Jack climbed out of the car carefully, checking his surroundings.  It was actually quite lovely, peaceful and very green with manicured lawns and weaving gardens of flowers.  A group of clean-cut looking men and equally perfect wives came walking out to greet them.  One slightly older, balding man tousled his hair.

 

“My, Jack, you are getting big!  Why don’t you walk on down to the dock?  A bunch of the boys and girls are down there.”

 

Jack glanced at his mother for permission and she smiled, her answer given.  His father was doing his best impersonation of a normal human being and could certainly care less if Jack was there or not.  Heading down the path of stepping stones and around the small white cottage, Jack spied a wide expanse of grey-blue.  The lake.  Several docks jutted out from the land, row boats and fishing gear all along the sides.  A line of cottages echoed each other down the shore, a multitude of lawn furniture dotting the landscape.

 

Cheerful voices began to reach his ears and he recognized the laughter of children jumping off the dock and splashing in the water.  When he got close enough he could see children of all ages, each looking just as perfect as their parents and all screaming with abandon as they splashed and swam, two boys wrestling on the grass and a small group of teen girls commenting on it from the side.

 

Something made him stop.  Maybe it was his powers of intuition or just the souring of his stomach that told him he really didn’t want to be with this group.  Instead, he looked down the shore and there, about four or five docks down, sat a lone figure dangling his feet into the water.  Without really thinking about it, he began walking toward the figure, the screams of the children lessening as he approached.

 

It looked to be a boy about his own age.  His dark brown hair was stringy and kind of long, his clothes nowhere near the perfection demanded in his own home – torn and stained.  But what drew him to this boy the most was the fact that his pale skin told the story of a boy who almost certainly didn’t get out of the house much, like himself.

 

“Hey,” he announced, stepping onto the dock.

 

The boy turned, looking directly at him, but then checking out the surrounding area as if Jack had been speaking to someone else.

 

“Can I join you?”  Jack asked.

 

“Sure, I guess.  If you really want to.”

 

Jack took one cursory look back and slipped off his shoes and socks, sitting down next to the boy and slipping his feet into the water.  “My name’s Jack.”

 

“Arty.”

 

“So, um…you here on holiday?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Me, too, but just for the weekend.”

 

“You with that group down there?” Arty asked, gesturing to the wild group of swimmers.

 

“Not really.  I mean my parents are there, but I really don’t want to hang out with those kids.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Just not my type, I guess.”

 

“Yeah, I know what you mean.  I don’t really fit in with the others here either.  My mother is kind of sick so we came here so she’d feel better.  My uncle keeps saying she’s sick in her head because of me, but I don’t know what I did.  My older brother and sister…well, they kind of belong together.  They’re a lot older than me and so we don’t do much together.  You got any brothers or sisters?”

 

“No, just me.” It was quiet except for the soft lapping of the water as the boys moved their feet back and forth.  “Maybe we could hang out this weekend?”

 

“Sure.  That would be nice.”  It was the first time Jack had noticed anything remotely resembling a smile on Arty’s face.

 

The boys talked all day, walked through the woods picking up pine cones and exploring several small caves and rabbit holes.  Jack had darted back when called for lunch and dinner, but had returned promptly for more exploring.  The two got on very well, sharing stories of their childhoods as if they’d known each other for years.  As they sat on a bed of leaves, poking at both the dead carcass of a squirrel and an ant hill with a long stick, Arty said something interesting.

 

“That would make a good wand.” 

 

“A what?” Jack asked, clearly confused.

 

“A wand.  That stick is really solid and smooth and straight.  They’re made out of all kinds of wood, birch, oak, poplar – you just have to find something for the core.  Of course, we couldn’t make it, but still…”

 

“You mean like a magician’s wand?” Jack asked again, examining the plain looking stick in his hand.

 

“Like a wizard’s wand.” Arty’s blunt reply showed no signs of humor and Jack squinted, still confused.

 

“Wizard?”

 

“Yeah.  Wait.  You mean you aren’t a wizard?” Arty asked, discontinuing his own assault on the ant hill.

 

“Very funny, Arty.  A wizard.  Yeah.  Ha ha.”  Jack stood up and waved his stick in the air.  “Abracadabra!”  He laughed and jumped around before looking back for Arty’s similar response, but the boy still looked serious.  Jack stopped his joking at once.

 

“You’re a Muggle?” Arty asked, this time a clear tone of wonderment in his voice.

 

“What are you talking about?” 

 

“Oh, this is too cool.  I’ve never met a regular Muggle.  Wow.  Wait till I tell my mum.”

 

“Tell her what?  Look this isn’t funny.  If you’re going to keep doing this, then I’m going home.”  Jack gripped the stick and plunged with all his strength into the fur of the dead squirrel.

 

“No!  No, please don’t go.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean anything by it, it’s just that well…I guess I’ll have to explain.  Come on, sit down.”

 

Jack frowned, but reluctantly sat back down on the leaves.

 

Arty proceeded to tell Jack all about Wizards and Muggles.  He pulled out his own wand and demonstrated a simple levitation on a leaf.  He explained that he had just finished his first year at a special school for witches and wizards and although he wasn’t allowed to do magic outside of school, his siblings in the cabin would say it was them if asked.  After seeing Arty perform, Jack believed with all his heart and began to listen intently, amazed at the stories.  Soon, however, it grew dark and Jack hurried back to his mother’s calling.  But, he promised to return the next day.

 

Even before breakfast, the two boys were once again together and Jack found himself fascinated by the world Arty lived in, wanting to be a part of it more than anything.  A wizard would have all kind of power and would never have to be afraid of anyone or anything.  He could even heal bruises.  But, most importantly, he would be respected, making others bow down before him.

 

“So, how can a Muggle become a Wizard?” Jack asked, determined to change his life before the day was through.

 

“You either are or you aren’t.  You can’t become one, at least, as far as I know.  The magic is in our blood and in our bodies.  It’s something you get from your parents.” Arty explained.

 

“Well, maybe if we mixed our blood, I could get some of the magic from you.  We could become like blood brothers.”

 

“I don’t know if that will work, but I’d love to have another brother or maybe a cousin.  Yeah, you could be my cousin.  We could write and I could tell you all about Grindelwald and Voldemort and you could tell me all about Muggles.”

 

“Who are they?”

 

“Oh, they are the most powerful wizards ever.  Well, Grindelwald wasn’t as strong, Dumbledore killed him.  But, Lord Voldemort.  He is our master!  Any wizard who is anybody follows the Dark Lord.”

 

“Sounds cool.  So, should we do this?”  Jack turned his palm face up.  “Can you cut with that thing?” he asked, gesturing to Arty’s wand.

 

“Yeah, but I’m not very good at it yet.”

 

“I trust you.  We’re cousins.”  Jack nodded, no fear in his expression, only reckless delight, and waited as Arty pointed his wand at Jack’s hand.  Seconds later a slice appeared in his palm and then Arty performed the same spell, slicing his own.

 

Arty reached out his hand.  “Cousins for life.”  Jack shook it and waited, eyes wide, hoping he’d feel some magical tingle, an infusion of power that would tell him their experiment worked.  Arty didn’t know any healing spells yet, but easily tracked down his Uncle with the ruse of having accidentally cut it on a rock and it was healed without a scar in no time.  Jack, however, wrapped his in a piece of towel that Arty had brought out from the house.  His mother would bandage it later and in the course of time, it would heal also, but the scar would remain.  An owl appeared shortly thereafter, flying right up to the house and Arty’s brother poked his head out of the house with a stern expression.

 

They did write as promised and met up again when they were fourteen and fifteen.  By this time Arty had gained more experience, but Jack was still magicless and still just as determined to find a way to transform.  It had become an obsession, perhaps born of desire to escape the violence of his own reality or maybe due to it.  He read medical books and starting killing and dissecting animals as his interest in biology grew.  Once again, he convinced Arty to give him a blood sample in his continued research on magic.  Their bond was just as strong, but their lives took them in completely different directions.  Jack wrote when he got accepted to university, but things had not gone as well for Arty.  Without Arty admitting it, Jack could tell that his mother’s dementia had been hereditary.  They hadn’t spoken since.

 

*** 

 

When Hermione didn’t show up for the weekly staff meeting, Lola immediately marched down to her office and banged on the door.

 

“Ms. Granger?  Ms. Granger!”

 

Cracking the door, she peered inside and was about to look more fully when a voice caught her from behind.

 

“Can I help you?”

 

Lola spun around to the male voice.  “Oh, Lieutenant Potter.  I’m just looking for Ms. Granger.  This is not a good way to start off.  She knew the importance of being at today’s staff meeting and yet she doesn’t even bother to send a note explaining her absence.  I hired her based on your recommendation…”

 

“I’m sure she has a good reason for not being here.  She hasn’t been well the last couple of days.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear that, but she should have informed us of her absence.”

 

Harry frowned.  He had to agree that it wasn’t like Hermione to not show up without at least sending word.  “I’ll look into it,” he replied, offering an assuring nod to Lola who pursed her lips, some combination of annoyance and regret for her stern tone.  

 

“Fine.”  She marched back the way she had come.

 

Harry took the steps that Lola had avoided and walked fully into Hermione’s office.  The desk was neat – not a surprise – but almost too neat, as if no one had been working there at all.  If he hadn’t been so focused on her absence, he would have chuckled at the surroundings that were so tidy, just like her.  Despite her hospital visit from the day before, Hermione had assured them all that she would see them at work and suddenly a lot of warning bells went off in Harry’s head.

 

Picking up the pace, he traversed the long hall that divided the many desks and approached Private Whitcomb, who maintained his post as usual.

 

“Private.”

 

“Yes, Sir?”

 

“Have you seen Ms. Granger today?”

 

“No, Sir.  She hasn’t passed my station.”

 

“Thank you, Private.  If you see her, I want you to inform either myself or Lieutenant Weasley immediately.  Do you understand?”

 

“Yes, Sir.”  He snapped back to attention as Harry scanned the room for a familiar head of red hair.  Soon, Ron stepped out of a conference room down the hall and started walking the opposite direction.  Harry jogged to catch him.

 

“Ron!”

 

“Yeah?”  Ron stopped, a questioning look on his face.

 

  _Something’s wrong._  

 

Harry thought it, but didn’t want to impose his opinions on Ron, only giving the facts in case it was just his own paranoia.  “Hermione didn’t show up for work.”

 

His brows kitted together, but not in extreme concern.  “You sure?”

 

“Yeah, office is empty and Whitcomb says she never came in.”

 

“Wasn’t Ginny supposed to check on her this morning?  Maybe she’s still feeling bad.”  Again, Ron didn’t look quite as panicked as Harry felt and he took the tiniest bit of comfort in that.  Knowing her for as long as he did, this just didn’t fall in her usual pattern of behavior and he felt compelled to continue his argument.

 

“I’m sure that she is, but Ron, have you ever known Hermione to not show up for a staff meeting without sending an owl?”  Harry reached into his back pocket and whipped out a cell phone, flipping it open as he spoke.  “John gave me their telephone number.”  

 

“A Muggle phone, huh?” One of Ron’s eyes arched.

 

Harry only flashed him a look as he put the phone to his ear and waited.

 

Ron’s face remained with the slight edge of concern as he stared at Harry for all of two seconds.  Then it appeared he had a change of heart or perhaps he was just erring on the side of caution.  “I should check on her.  Can you cover for me while I run out?”  Ron was already handing off his file folder to Harry who marched along side, both moving toward the lifts.

 

Harry fed off the same energy, his source of concern renewed.  When it came to Hermione, neither was willing to take chances.  “Nothing,” he said, flipping the lid closed on the phone.  “I’ll get hold of Ginny and see if she looked in on her.  Meet back here?”  Harry asked as they both stepped onto the lifts.

 

“Atrium.” Ron called out to the operator who shifted the lever.

 

They both jerked as the lift started moving, jostling them about with each shift of direction.  There were two others on the lift and Ron lowered his voice and leaned into Harry.  “I’ll get word to you if she’s there.”

 

“Agreed,” Harry replied.  The lift continued to move.  Both men stood stiffly, holding their own against the motion of the lift, a sense of purpose and obvious disquiet in their posture.  The lift stopped and a balding wizard in a green frock stepped out.  A few seconds later and they were moving again.

 

“I’m sure she’s fine.  Mostly likely sleeping.”  Harry offered, probably trying to convince himself, more than his partner.

 

“Yeah, you’re probably right, but better to check.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Ministry Atrium.” The Operator called and the doors opened.  Harry and Ron wanted to bolt from the lift, but the elderly white-haired witch was hobbling a bit and they smiled politely, silently urging her to hurry up as she cleared the doors.  Harry found a nearby Floo for it was the quickest route to St. Mungo’s, but Ron hurried toward the exit for he needed to get to the designated Apparition spot.

 

Within minutes, Ron stood a few blocks from Hermione’s flat, camouflaged by a cluster of holly bushes.  Trying not to be too noticeable, he stepped out onto the sidewalk and walked swiftly toward her building, his feet thudding against the pavement with purpose.  Each step echoed a beat of his heart, even as his thoughts tried their best to calm him.

 

  _She’s fine.  Probably sleeping._  

Taking the front steps two at a time, he hit the landing and pulled open the heavy wooden door at the entrance.  Inside, all was quiet and Ron noted the ceiling peering down from four flights above through the opening of the staircase.  With renewed energy he bolted up the steps two at a time, his thoughts already racing through what he might find when he arrived.

 

Most men would have been out of breath, but Ron’s harder than normal breathing had nothing to do with the three flights of stairs he had just climbed and much more to do with the intense worry pulsing through him.  Pushing those fears aside, he found her door and calmly knocked three times.  Waiting, the realization hit that she could answer the door and then what?  What would he say?  He’d feel like a complete birk standing there should she be just fine.

 

  _Captain Obvious strikes again!_  

If this didn’t just scream, ‘needy male’ then nothing would.  Such illogical thoughts had driven him to the point of panic and he stood ready to Apparate away.  Could he actually disappear before she saw him?

 

No one was answering.  Maybe she wasn’t home.  She was probably on her way to work and he was standing in her hallway like a moron, banging on the door.  Still, that deep underlying concern urged him to knock once more and he did, just a bit louder.

 

Seconds later he heard the jiggle and creak of several metal gears and knobs turning and he braced himself for the inevitable confrontation.

 

“Can I help you?”  John’s voice spoke through the crack in the door, a gold chain still spanning the gap.

 

“Oh, hi.  Remember me?  Hermione’s friend?”

 

“Oh, yes!  Ron, right?”  John smiled and Ron nodded in confirmation.

 

“Yeah, um…is Hermione here?”  Ron’s eyes tried to peek through the door, hoping to catch of glimpse of the interior of her flat, or better yet, to see her.

 

“Um…no.  She’s not here.  She went to work.”

 

Ron immediately thought it was odd, unless she had just left and they had missed each other.  “I thought perhaps she was still feeling bad and had decided to stay home.”

 

John’s eyes flickered, just enough that Ron recognized the man’s thought pattern shifting as he examined his possible responses.  The spontaneity that would otherwise drive a regular, non-evasive conversation was lacking in the man’s curious pause.

 

“Ah…no, she left early this morning.”

 

Ron recognized the subterfuge, but he had no proof that what he said was a lie.  What he did have was a chain blocking his way and a wide range of rules about breaking and entering that prevented him from taking any further steps. 

 

“Well, she didn’t show up at the office.”

 

“That’s odd.”  John replied, still safely hidden behind the chain.  “I’ll make some calls.”

 

“You do that.”  Ron couldn’t help but glare at the man, all trust in his actions evaporating.

 

“Thanks for stopping by.”  John tossed him a polite smile and quickly closed the door, several more latches and bobs clicking into place.

 

Rob mumbled quietly to himself.  “Yeah, I just bet you’re thrilled.”  He started back down the stairs.  “Make some calls.  Ha!”

 

*** 

 

Harry stepped out of the Floo into the main lobby of St. Mungo’s.  Ginny’s department was on the fourth floor and after a brief ride on the lift he soon found himself staring through the double sets of glass walls, knowing he wouldn’t be allowed through the secured area.

 

“Mrs. Darby, can you please call Ginny?” Harry asked of the lady at the nearby desk.  His visits had been frequent enough that the matronly receptionist merely nodded pleasantly, waved her wand to issue the summons and casually went back to her work.  Fleetingly, Harry considered the potential security risk that his familiarity with the clerk could pose.

 

However, his own frantic sense of purpose seemed to overwhelm his ability to recognize it in others.  When Ginny appeared, he nearly overlooked the deep frown in her forehead.

 

Even the fact that her usual welcoming smile seemed absent didn’t deter him from the mission of determining Hermione’s well-being.  With a few quick waves of her wand, she was through the glass enclosures and facing him, a stiff fist balled on her hip, the other hand brushing over her face as if to replace her grimace with something more amenable.

 

“Hi, Harry.”  Her tone was blank.  Cold.  If he hadn’t been preoccupied, it might have worried him, but the words rushed out of his mouth.

 

“Did you check on Hermione this morning?”

 

Her rapid blinks and shaking head seemed to accentuate a sense of confusion that appeared on her face.  “Wh…um…no.  Um…not yet.  But I will.”  She shook her head with a certain degree of annoyance that forced Harry’s jaw to tighten in response.  “What’s going on?” she asked.

 

“She never showed up at work this morning.  Ron went to her flat and you said you’d check on her this morning so…”  He realized the slight accusatory edge to his tone, but he couldn’t help it.

 

Her eyes closed as she sighed - the sound of an already exhausting day that had yet to begin.  “Yes.  I will.  Some _things_ came up this morning.”

 

His tense shoulders slipped just a little, her notable distress now shining through.  Even with the worry over his friend, he couldn’t help show a certain share of concern over his girl.  “What happened?”  He recognized in an instant that her distress was in need of his attention as well.

 

“Oh, it’s such a mess.”  She shook her head.  “We’ve only been here for such a short time and we’ve made such incredible progress, you know?”  Harry nodded.  Her eyes didn’t meet his, but jotted about absently hitting spots on the floor.  “Anyway…we were informed this morning that our department was going to close for lack of funding.”

 

“Funding?  You’ve got to be…”

 

“Wait, it gets even weirder.  So, just as we’re all reeling in shock from _that_ announcement, our department head tells us that a new benefactor has come forth and may want to give us a large donation.”

 

“Who is it?”

 

“I’ve no idea, but we have to clean everything up, including ourselves and report back here by ten this morning.  So, I just haven’t had time to get over to Hermione’s flat yet.  I still have two dozen cell samples that I need to label and move and then get home and change and get back here in…” she glanced down at the silver watch on her wrist – a gift from Harry at Christmas “…oh, dear, thirty five minutes.  But, I promise I’ll go over as soon as we’re done.”

 

“Okay, okay, I understand.  Um…look, Ron is checking her flat right now.  I’m sure everything is fine.  He’ll be back soon.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s okay, Gin.  I’m just…”

 

“Worried about her, I know.  I am, too.”  She put a hand on his shoulder.  “Harry, there’s one more thing.  I hate to ask you this, but Miranda…” Harry squinted, not connecting the name  “…our Department Supervisor?” she added and Harry nodded his understanding.  “She thinks that if you show up at the presentation and put your support behind our department, that this man may be more willing to help.”

 

“Ginny, even if he doesn’t, I’ll give you the money.  You don’t have to worry.”

 

Her frazzled expression softened into a smile and she stroked her hand over his jaw.  “My knight in shining armor.”

 

He blushed, his cheeks twisting up with pursed lips as if trying desperately to hide his pleasure at the comment.  “Gin.”

 

“Thank you for the sweet offer and we may call you on that, but for now…I need to do as Miranda wishes.”

 

Harry wrinkled his nose.  “I’ll try to come by, but I’m supposed to be in court at ten so I can’t promise anything.”

 

“I understand.  I promise I’ll check on Hermione as soon as this is over.  I’m sure she’s fine with John.”  She kissed him on the cheek, quite innocently.  Just as abruptly, Ginny’s eyes seemed to stop and feed off him, a single finger reaching out to trail over his lips before she mumbled something  - more to herself, but definitely for him to hear.  “Hmm mm, gorgeous.”

 

She winked at him and spun around, almost jogging down the hall.  Harry grinned, watching her ponytail bounce as she left.  Even in her hospital scrubs, she was an absolute delight to watch, her cute little arse tucked neatly into those blue drawstring uniform trousers.  

 

Unable to hold himself back, he blurted a response.  “Not so bad yourself there, sweet cheeks.”

 

Ginny clearly heard his comment for she turned, winked and then wiggled her arse in his direction, an obvious tease, before darting around the corner.

 

“Hmm.” Harry smiled, shaking his head.  “That woman will be the death of me!”

 

With a wave to Mrs. Darby, Harry stepped onto the lift, his thoughts turning back to Hermione again.

 

  _Ron_ _’s probably found her. I really need to get him one of these Muggle cell phones._

 

Within a few moments, the lift doors split on the main lobby.  A quick glance about revealed nothing but the usual movements of some staff and Harry quickly deliberated on his next step.  Answering a random thought, he walked over to the nearby registration desk.

 

“Excuse me.  Could you tell me if a Hermione Granger checked in today?”

 

Without looking up, the clerk scanned a nearby piece of parchment and replied.  “No, Sir, no Granger on my list.”

 

“Thank you.”  Feeling confident that she was not at the hospital, Harry proceeded to the Apparition spot and returned to the Ministry, prepared to wait for Ron’s return.  It was already quarter of ten and Harry paced nervously, understanding the importance of his court appearance and yet unable to concentrate on anything else without knowing that Hermione was alright.  One of the many Floos sprang to action, green flames spurting forth and Ron stepped out, finding him in an instant.

 

“Well?”  Harry asked.

 

“The git in her flat said she went to work this morning.”  Harry frowned and Ron continued.  “He’s lying, of course, but I can’t just break into the flat without proof.  Did you check with Ginny?”

 

“Um…yeah.  She hadn’t been over to see her, but she’s going to stop in soon.  I checked with hospital registration as well.  Nothing.”

 

“What do you want to do?”

 

Harry considered several options, finally voicing his instructions with the usual calm command he demonstrated everyday in the office.  “Look, I’m sure she’s fine, maybe running an errand, but I still want to check back at the flat.  I have to be in court in a few minutes.  When I’m done, I’ll go with you to Hermione’s flat.  We’ll get an order for us to search it if John doesn’t let us in.  But, I need you to do something for me, well…actually, it’s for your sister.”

 

“What do you mean?”  Ron asked, resting both fists on his waist.

 

“Her department head announced that St. Mungo’s was going to shut them down due to lack of funding.”

 

“What?”

 

Harry raised a halting hand.  “Wait.  So, this wealthy benefactor has come forward and is going to visit their department this morning.  She asked if I could be there…you know…a little hero worship never hurt the flow of gold.”  Ron rolled his eyes and nodded, understanding the way the world worked.  “I have to be in court and you know how Judge Cabbott can go off if an Auror misses his court date.  So, can you stop up and schmooz with the big wigs?”

 

“We don’t have time for this…”

 

“I won’t be long.  Besides, it’s for your sister.  This is important to her and to me.  What are you going to do while I’m in court anyway, pace outside Hermione’s door?”

 

Ron’s head bobbed.  “Yeah.  Okay, okay.  I’ll go…but you find me as soon as you’re done.  I just don’t trust that git.”

 

“Oh, I will.  You can count on it.”  Harry slapped him on the shoulder and took off jogging in the opposite direction, shouting over his shoulder “Ginny had to run home and change, but she’ll be back soon.”  Ron offered a one handed wave slash salute in understanding and puffed out an exasperated breath before stepping into the nearby Floo.  Within minutes he was upstairs on Ginny’s ward waiting patiently for her to return.

 

His thoughts kept spinning, trying to picture Hermione’s face, but the image that came to mind always looked distressing.  The more he thought of it, the worse he felt, the visions increasingly disturbing.  Several times in the midst of his pacing, his legs carried him hesitantly toward the lift as if making up his mind for him.  Yet, each time he followed the pattern in the tile back to his designated waiting area.

 

Boyfriend or not, he wouldn’t just stand aside if Hermione were in distress.  He would make it perfectly clear to this tosser just who was running the show when it came to Hermione’s safety.

 

His pacings were interrupted with the sound of Ginny’s voice.  “Ron, what are you doing here?”

 

“Harry asked me to come up.  He has to be in court, but he thought if I made an appearance, it might help you out a bit.”

 

She leaned up on her tip toes and kissed him on the cheek.  “Thanks, big brother.  That means a lot to me.  Come on.  We’ll make quick work of this and then I need to check in on Hermione.”  She nodded in the opposite direction and led the way through the security doors into a long wide hallway.  A group of people gathered at the opposite end, all dressed in their finest robes and talking quietly, but rather intensely among themselves.

 

“Miranda,” Ginny called, attracting the attention of a tall, strawberry-blonde, who seemed to be directing most of the conversation.  The lady looked up.  “Harry couldn’t come, but my brother Ron is here.”

 

“Oh, Mr. Weasley, thank you so much.”

 

Ron shrugged.  “Yeah, sure.”

 

“Alright, “ Miranda continued, addressing the group “Martin, you will give him a tour of the research lab and then, Vivien, you can run some statistics past him.  Remember to smile.  Ginny, you can introduce your brother and, well…I’ll leave that up to you, but remember to stress the progress we’ve made on this latest virus.”  

 

Everyone nodded their understanding.  Ron listened absently, realizing his own contribution had nothing to do with the inner workings of his sister’s department and only with his name recognition.  Miranda’s eyes suddenly lit up at something behind him and she rushed by his side.

 

“Your Honor!  What a pleasure to have you here!”  Ron stepped aside as Ginny and the rest of the staff pushed past him to address a somewhat stocky, white-haired man who approached with the gait of a person who held himself in too high regard.  Ron recognized the aire of pompous self-worth as soon as a single hand was shook.

 

The introductions went around and then the crowd split as Ginny pulled the man toward Ron.  “I’d like for you to meet my brother, Ron Weasley.  Ron, this is Judge Randolph.”

 

“Why, I’ve heard so much about you, Mr. Weasley.”  He rolled onto the balls of his feet and settled again, his round stomach filling the space between them.  “Our society is in your debt for the incredible courage you demonstrated in defeating He Who Must Not Be Named.”

 

“Oh, well, thank you…your Honor.  It’s a pleasure meeting you.”  Ron quickly drummed up something he thought might be helpful and appropriate to the situation.  “My sister, Ginny works in this department.  Perhaps you’ve heard of her?”  The creases in Judge Randolph’s forehead lifted his eyes wide as he turned to stare at Ginny.  Ron decided a little name association wouldn’t hurt.  “She’s Harry Potter’s girlfriend.”  Leaning in, Ron nudged the man in the arm, speaking as if in confidence.  “If you ask me, she’ll be Mrs. Potter in no time.”  The judge eyed Ron, just in time to see him wink.  Soon, both men were smiling as if having been the best of friends for years.

 

Martin interrupted, directing the judge on the tour and Ron took a step back to open up some space in the hall.  Even though he hated all the pomp and circumstance that came with dealing with wizarding royalty, he had to admit his own tiny sense of gratification.  Besides, Ginny was smiling radiantly at him and he grinned back.

 

“Ronald?”  He turned to look at the source of his name and nearly collapsed into the wall behind him.

 

“Diane.  Wh…what are you doing here?”

 

Her face lit up and she almost ran to his side.  “Ronnie.  Well, this day just keeps getting better and better!”  Diane pinched his sleeve and pulled him several steps down the hall in the same direction the judge and staff were moving.  Ron was so stunned, he simply stumbled along.

 

“Daddy!  Daddy, wait!”  The judge stopped and turned.  “Daddy, this is Ronald.”

 

“Yes, I know.  I just met Mr. Weasley.”  The judge smiled lovingly at his daughter as if used to dealing with a girl who was not always very quick on the uptake.

 

“No, Daddy, this is _my_ Ronald.  You know, the one I told you I wanted you to meet?”

 

Ron stared at her, then at him, the equation beginning to make sense.  It appeared the judge had also connected the dots for his eyes lit up even wider.

 

“Oh!  Well, that’s different.  I’m sorry, Mr. Weasley, or should I call you Ronald?  I didn’t realize you were the young man dating my daughter.”

 

Ron’s mouth felt something a kin to the Sahara desert.  He shot a pleading glance at Ginny, but got only his own pleading look in reply.  Diane now stood firmly at his side, her arm wrapped tightly around his and a huge smile on her face.  Ron frantically tried to come up with some way to get out of the situation, to save face and help Ginny and distance himself from the blonde on his arm who had only caused him a great deal of annoyance in the past week.  The judge appeared to be a patient man, but at the moment, his eyes flickered between Ron’s and his daughter’s, trying to picture them as a couple and certainly waiting for some response.

 

“Yes, well…I didn’t realize the connection either, your Honor.”  Ron politely replied, glancing again at Ginny.

 

“Oh, Daddy, are you going to give them the money?” Diane asked, bouncing up and down on the pads of her feet.  “After all, this is Ronnie’s sister.  Please, Daddy.  It would mean so much to me.”  She smiled adoringly up at Ron and squeezed his arm tighter.  Ron forced the corners of his mouth to turn up in response, despite the sickening feeling in his stomach.

 

“Well…” the judge paused and looked around at the crowd that now gathered.  He looked a bit uncomfortable.  “I was going to wait and observe the department, make my decision based on the merits of such a venture.”  Unbelievably, Diane pouted.  A full blown-out, jutting her lower lip in response – pout.  It became abundantly clear that this girl was spoiled rotten and had her father wrapped tightly around her little finger.

 

“However, if Ronald here means that much to my little Di-dee-do then I suppose.  Yes, I’ll give you the full grant.”

 

Diane seemed to cheer up immediately on hearing her father’s nickname for her and nearly squealed in delight, leaning up to kiss Ron on the cheek and then finally, latching on to his lips.  Ron’s eyes remained wide when she kissed him.  His entire face turned bright red as he was forced to wrap his arms around the girl who now jumped into his grip.

 

Another set of squeals erupted in the hall as the rest of the staff shouted with joy.  Even Ginny looked happy, although toned down in response to the clear conflict of interest displayed in front of her.  Ron gently pried Diane from his grip.

 

“Oh, I’m so happy for you,” she continued.

 

“Yeah, it’s great.”  Ron struggled for more words.  “Very…um…generous of your father.  I’m sure Ginny really appreciates it.”

 

Diane frowned, tossing her blond hair to the side and forcing a fist onto her pushed out hip.  “Just Ginny?” she asked.

 

“No!  No, of course not.  Everyone here is thrilled.  I mean look around.”  Ron knew what she wanted to hear, but was trying desperately not to have to say it.  Ginny watched, imploringly from several feet away, a similar expression of guilt on her face.  For being somewhat of a ditz, Ron had to admit Diane knew when to stick to her guns.  And with Ginny’s added weight, it was clear he had no choice.  

 

He sighed, pushing down the bile as he spoke in a drone.  “Thank you so much, Diane.  I am so happy to have your father’s help.  I couldn’t have done this without you.”  Diane’s face lit back up, looking completely satisfied at his response.  She wrapped her arm back around his and Ron growled in his head.

 

Judge Randolph continued down the hall with Martin, who apparently had been so psyched about giving his tour that they decided to give the judge the whole treatment.  Diane nudged Ron in the other direction and he walked her back to the lifts and down to the main lobby, his arm clutched tightly in hers the entire time.  The conversation, or rather Diane’s soliloquy, evolved from the generosity of her father to pressing for Ron to extol the virtues of the adorable dress she had just purchased and finally to the merits of her moving in with Ron.

 

At this point, Ron began to panic.  In fact, he thought he might become physically ill and suggested they sit down in some of the nearby chairs.  

 

*** 

 

Harry finished in court and, after stopping in to double check Hermione’s office, he returned to St. Mungo’s, prepared to gather Ron and head to her flat.  Stepping through the main doors, the first thing, and most stunning, to catch his eye was Ron sitting along the hall, his head resting in his hand as if in serious pain.  A thin blond woman that Harry vaguely remembered from a recent pub outing sat beside him, scooted as far over in the seat as possible, almost sitting _on_ him.  She kept weaving her fingers through Ron’s hair in a soothing manner, but Ron appeared anything but soothed.

 

Harry took a few tentative steps toward them, confused, but not quite sure what to say.  Just when he was about to speak, another familiar face caught his eye.  About twenty feet farther down the corridor, where the halls intersected the hospital’s Muggle entrance, Hermione stepped into view.  John had an arm wrapped around her waist, clearly offering support.  She didn’t look well.

 

Harry couldn’t have wished for a worse scenario, but he felt compelled to get Ron’s attention in the matter.  As if reading his mind or simply noticing the nearby movement, Ron looked up at him.  Harry felt sure Ron was suffering from an excruciating headache based on his current expression, but Harry quickly tilted his chin up and shifted his eyes to the end of the hall, trying to redirect Ron’s attention.

 

At the same moment, Hermione stopped in the midst of the intersecting hallways and looked right at him, then quickly settled on Ron.  Diane chose that exact moment to plant another kiss on Ron’s shoulder.  Harry’s heart almost ached at the exchange going on, each brow pressing in with a tortured appearance, his two best friends caught in what seemed wholly unwanted situations.  At least, it looked that way to him.  Harry suspected it was the same look two lovers or spouses would share post break-up, both hurt, both stunned, the emotions raw and apparent on their faces.  Ron was still turned away from him, but Harry immediately met John’s somewhat urgent and perturbed expression from the end of the hall.  John quickly tugged Hermione out of view.

 

Harry could nearly hear the drain of air from Ron’s lungs as his mate’s shoulders slumped in defeat, his low, pained voice mumbling under his breath. “Oh, shite.”  

 


	9. Chapter 9 - Temperature Tantrums

  
Author's notes: Once again a big thank you to Indie for her fabulous beta help and to missgranger2 for her enthusiasm and invaluable insights.   


* * *

 

Harry anxiously watched the hospital corridor take on a truly empty, almost cold feeling as Ron’s eyes closed solemnly for a second.  Seeing John’s arm wrapped around Hermione was uncomfortable enough, even for Harry.  But for Diane to pick that moment to demonstrate her affections toward Ron was like watching a giant metal wedge slam between his two best friends.  Harry could almost feel Ron absorbing the pain of the moment as he watched him flinch slightly at Diane’s touch.  He knew his mate and the feelings he harbored for Hermione.  More so, he knew her almost as intimately and despite the presence of this new man in her life, the shared glance between the two of them screamed of unimaginable betrayal and abandonment that forced Ron to cringe at the unfortunate predicament.  In fact, Harry shivered in response to the goose bumps coming off of Ron’s skin – directed at the touch of this woman, this intruder, latched to Ron’s arm.  It seemed tripled by the chill coming from Hermione’s stare as she moved hastily out of sight.

 

Harry took another halting step toward Ron who shared a moment with him that only two Aurors and best friends could understand.  The kind that required no words, but was perfectly clear.  Beyond the heart-wrenching pain and anger, Ron shared the same concerns about Hermione and the seemingly deceitful actions of her newest suitor.  Harry began urgently walking down the hall in pursuit, but was interrupted by Ginny’s voice spinning him back around.

 

“Harry!”  She jogged toward him.  “Are you done with court?”

 

Harry heard Ron behind him quietly excusing himself from Diane’s attentions, his hurried steps moving in the opposite direction.

 

“Gin, Hermione’s here.  We just saw her!”  He grabbed Ginny’s arm in tow and started following Ron’s route down the hall.

 

“What?”  Ginny followed somewhat breathlessly behind as she had to jog to keep up.

 

“We just saw her in the corridor with John.”  Harry continued to explain, rounding the corner.   The empty hall was lined with door after door, all closed.  Without any thought toward privacy or consequences, he looked in each, knowing he’d find Ron any second.  Ginny followed behind, her own concern now echoed in heavy, determined steps. 

 

Six doors later, he walked in to find Hermione sitting on a blue exam table and Ron wedging himself between her and John who had taken up position along side her.  John turned, meeting Harry’s eyes as he stumbled back with a mumbled complaint at being forcibly shoved out of the way.

 

“Hey!”

 

Ron rested a hand on her leg, bending down to look into her face, his breath hitching as he caught sight of her pallid complexion.  “Hermione, what’s wrong?”  It may have sounded like a stupid question, but Harry recognized Ron’s concern, this question a way to assuage his own fears.  The beginnings of an apology, long lament-filled explanations and promises of reconciliation all hung on Ron’s lips.  Harry knew he wanted to talk to her, but it seemed that hospital rooms just weren’t conducive to intimate conversations.  Beyond her obvious condition, something else was going on and if there was anything Ron could do to help, Harry was sure he wouldn’t hesitate.    Besides, they both wanted to hear it from her and not from the pond scum standing next to her.

 

Her eyelids fluttered and she appeared wobbly – her fingertips digging into the vinyl tabletop as she stuttered out a reply.  “I’m s-so c-cold.”  The underside of her wavy hair had assumed a wet, stringy look, clearly the result of some heavy perspiration and it stuck to her neck and cheeks.  Little wisps ran like vines around her ears and cheekbones.  Harry wondered if she had a fever and these were the resulting chills.  Her eyes appeared dull and pained, the usual flush of her cheeks now chalky.  

 

Hermione’s quite visible trembling seemed to spur Ginny to action as she rushed around his side, wrapping a comforting arm around Hermione’s shivering shoulders.  It struck Harry that his friend was truly ill, beyond the realm of what could be fixed with a simple spell or a few days of rest.  But how…she was healthy just days before?  He shook his head, unable to believe that this young, talented, vibrant girl could be in such distress.  The memory of finding her in that Hungarian hotel room, terrified and weak, seemed as if it had occurred months ago.  Looking at her now, Harry couldn’t understand how he could have gone to sleep, even left her room, with her in such a state.  A stab of guilt almost doubled him over, until Ron’s movement pulled him back to the present.  

 

Ron turned his attentions to the brown haired man on his right who, despite looking a bit worried, pulled himself up to his full height in the face of the threatening appearance of the tall redhead.  Harry had known his mate long enough to recognize his stance, one of intimidation, but not rage…not yet.  John clearly appeared pinned to the floor with nothing but Ron’s glare.

 

Harry took the opportunity to step up and slip his hand over Hermione’s.  “We were worried when you didn’t show up for work.  Why didn’t you owl?” Harry pressed, making it perfectly clear that John was not involved in the conversation.  Her only response was to shiver, empty eyes rolling and fluttering.

 

“Harry, we need to find a Healer.”  Ginny cut in, rubbing Hermione’s arms and whispering soothing words into her ear.

 

“I already called one, they said they’d be here in a minute.” John explained still looking uncomfortable under Ron’s glare.

 

Ron didn’t even have to step toward the man.  All it took was a lean, a slight twitch in Ron’s jaw and John was spouting explanations and rebuttals, his eyes twitching and dilating with the expertise of a seasoned actor.  “I can’t thank you enough for letting me know about Hermione.”  Ron’s eyes squinted in an equal share of anger and mistrust, enough that John raised a defensive-looking hand, his words trying to draw attention away from himself.  “I didn’t realize she was this sick.”  His eyes darted to Harry.  “You said she was tired and didn’t have her magic anymore, but you didn’t say she was sick.”

 

Harry wasn’t certain, but thought he heard Ron growl “liar” under his breath and John tried to create some space between them.  “Where could that doctor be?”  

 

Harry glanced at Ron, knowing his mate was experiencing the same instinctive and distrustful feelings as him about this man in Hermione’s life.  He stepped up placing his hand on Ron’s shoulder, partly in restraint, but more so to get his attention back to Hermione.  

 

It appeared that Ron was about to take some kind of action when the door opened again and a Healer and nurse walked in.  Ron’s intimidating presence caught even them by surprise, the healer’s head snapping up at the broad shouldered man in black with the stern expression.  But Ron stepped casually aside nodding an “afternoon” to them and they smiled cautiously and proceeded past him.

 

“Well, we have quite a crowd here, don’t we?” the healer joked as if trying to reclaim her comfort level.  She glanced at Ginny, their relationship becoming evident.  “Ms. Weasley, nice to see you.  Is this a friend of yours?”

 

Ginny nodded and the Healer took one look at Hermione’s shivering form and turned to the group.  “Why don’t you gentlemen wait outside while I speak with Ms. Granger.”

 

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Harry offered, stepping up to John and gripping him firmly by the arm.  “Why don’t we go out in the hall and _chat_.”  John didn’t look too pleased about being handled in this way, tugging his arm free, but trying to appear calm as he struggled to maintain his stance.  Ron dropped his hands to his sides, both curling into claw-like fists as his jaw tensed.  It had the required effect for John seemed to recognize his own mortality and shifted his shoulders back into a casual alignment before exiting the room on his own power, Harry directly behind.

 

*** 

 

Hermione began shaking more violently, her teeth chattering uncontrollably as she sat on the table.  Everyone noticed and all conversation stopped except what was needed to attend to the patient.  With John out of the room, Ron’s expression immediately softened, the frown of worry taking over his rage-filled brow.  The healer tried to coax Hermione to lie down, although it appeared she was about to collapse anyway.  However, she remained seated, her shivers combining with a negative head movement.  Ron wasn’t surprised by the deja vue that came over him as the scene flashed reminiscent of her collapse at the Burrow.  The assistant healer pulled out his wand, scanning Hermione’s trembling form and Ginny turning to grab a nearby extra blanket from the cabinet.

 

A strange pull urged Ron forward.  No matter his standing in her life, he couldn’t help the overwhelming desire to play the role of protector.  They had so much history together, too many life altering moments in their shared past for him to walk away.  It seemed appropriate that he should share this with her as well.  “Hermione, talk to me.  What’s going on?” He stepped closer, his feet like magnets on the floor, heavy and yet determined.  The more he watched, the more worried he became.

 

“I’m sorry, Sir, you need to wait outside.”  The healer walked toward him, pressing a firm, but gentle, hand on his arm.  Ron stood his ground, unable and unwilling to leave her when she looked so vulnerable, so weak.  

 

“I’m not going anywhere.”  Ron’s words were deliberate and just a tinge menacing, enough that the Healer stepped back apprehensively.  “You can just consider me her personal bodyguard.  Where she goes, I go.”  He forced himself to take one large step back, crossing his sculpted biceps firmly over his muscular black-shirted chest and spreading his feet into some kind of parade rest position.  Only his eyes betrayed him.

 

“Ron.”  Ginny caught his attention with a nod of the head indicating she had things under control, but Ron remained still, his eyes back on Hermione who stared at him weakly, her jaw chattering.  The longer they remained connected, the deeper the furrow in Ron’s brow became.  She looked so ill, so weak - beyond the realm of mere sickness, frightening.  Ron’s stomach flipped with indecision, as if urging him to do something and holding him in place at the same time.

 

This was the closest they had been in years and yet the farthest away.  His eyes burned and his jaw tensed with the thought that he had somehow failed her.

 

“Her temperature is ninety five point two.”  The assistant announced in a rather panicked sounding declaration, drawing the Healer back to Hermione’s side as her eyes lost focus with Ron’s and she started to sway.

 

“What?” the Healer exclaimed, clearly surprised by this news, waving her wand in a circle over Hermione’s head.  “Siccus Estus.”  The air above Hermione rippled in response as if the sun had directed all of its rays into this one spot.  Ginny released her with a slight gasp as the heat flashed against her face.  It became apparent that Ginny’s grip had been the only thing keeping her vertical, for she tipped farther as both the Healer and Ron moved toward her.  “Get her robes off,” the Healer ordered, turning back to Ron again.  “You have to leave.”

 

Ron stepped forward, again leaning down to meet Hermione’s fluttering eyes, needing her to know that he was present, that he could be counted on beyond all others.  “If you need anything, just call.  Harry and I will be right outside.”  Her only response was a near convulsive tremor as Ginny helped her unclasp her robes with another warning.

 

“Ron, out, now!”

 

He glanced at his sister and turned.  With a few steps, Ron found himself in the hall, his attentions turning to the two men standing a few feet away.  Harry and John were somewhat evenly matched in size, but he had no doubts that Harry could take the man in a heartbeat.  Still, John was standing up to him, their voices above a whisper, but within tolerable range for the hospital corridor.

 

“I checked her office myself, John.  She wasn’t there.  I checked it multiple times.  She never checked in with security.”

 

“Well, I don’t know Harry.  Maybe she had some errands to run or something.  All I can tell you is that she wasn’t in the flat.”  John’s face held with marble-like conviction, no hint of deception in his eyes.

 

Ron felt his temper rising as he approached.  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”  He pointed back toward the door he had just exited.  “She can barely stand and you’re telling me she got up as usual and headed off to work without a care in the world?”

 

John still looked calm even with both of the Aurors standing in his face, but Ron felt his own temper rising as the man retorted.  “I didn’t see her leave.  I was asleep.  Look, what is this with you two and the third degree all the time?”  John folded his arms over his chest, in some weak attempt to look casual and confident, but Ron knew he had to be quivering in his shoes and he liked it.  Anyone who was messing with his Hermione, boyfriend or not, would find himself on the receiving end of Ron’s fist first and wand second, both with equal fervor.

 

“You’re a lying sack of shit.”  Ron drilled his index finger into John’s face.  “I don’t know what you’re up to, but you need to stay the fuck away from her.”

 

“Ron.”

 

He recognized Harry’s attempt to calm him down as he met his partner’s gaze and took a few tentative steps away to regain control.  Ron couldn’t believe when he heard John actually speak.

 

“You seem to be under some delusion that you’re her caretaker or something.  You are her ex-boyfriend, ex being the operative word.  You can try to force your will on me all you want, but the simple fact is that Hermione is mine, not yours.  She lives with me…”  He pointed his thumb at his chest and then added something that made Ron nearly growl.  “…sleeps with me.  If she needs medical help, I’ll get it for her.  If she needs comforting, I’ll be the one wrapping my arms around her, not you, you jealous wanker!  You can stand there all you want looking like the big man, in your black robes and silly magical get up, but you don’t scare me, Red.”

 

Ron was about to snap, the rage-filled urge to strike curling his fingers, but luckily – for John – Harry’s reaction came first.  It wasn’t violent in the same sense as Ron’s reaction would have been, instead eerily calm and yet Ron recognized the almost venomous leer directed at the Muggle.  Harry drew his wand with the confidence and ease of a seasoned professional, raising it to John’s throat.

 

Harry’s voice was deep and deliberate.  “Do you know what this is?  Do you know what I can do to you with it?”  John’s breath rushed through his nose, more sweat coating his forehead as he glanced at the wand.  “You hurt her, mistreat her in anyway and I will personally stop your heart from beating with one flick of my wrist.”  John’s eyes darted back to Harry’s, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a nervous swallow.

 

Ron knew his mate was in control, much better control than himself, but what surprised him was that John still didn’t back down.  Maybe he truly didn’t realize the danger he was in – didn’t know what damage could be done with magic.  

 

A couple of nurses came walking around the corner, both gasping as they saw Harry’s wand drawn at the young man’s neck.  Ron intercepted their view, stepping in front of the pair.  “Auror business.”

 

The two ladies nodded uneasily and kept walking, one glancing nervously over her shoulder as they passed down the hall.

 

How he could talk back with a wand pointed at a major artery – either the guy had balls of steel or he was more of an idiot than Ron imagined.  

 

“You know, you’re not so strong without your little stick,” John countered.  

 

Ron had had just about enough of this Muggle liar and his attitude, and gripped him by the front of his shirt, nearly lifting him off the floor as he dragged him to the opposite wall of the hallway.  John grunted as Ron pushed him into the wall with a rather forceful thrust.

 

“It’s a wand, dickhead and I don’t need it to take you out.”  Ron’s height and strength were enough to finally put a twinge of fear into John’s eyes.  “In fact, I might actually enjoy meeting up with you sometime, alone, away from the public’s eyes.”

 

A loud thump drew their attention back to the door on the left.

 

*** 

 

Hermione had never felt so cold in her life.  She fully expected to see blue when she looked at her own skin, the problem was she was unable to concentrate on anything besides her body’s convulsions.  Ginny and the nurse were trying to get her robes off, something that Hermione found insane as she clutched them closer to her, curling in to a tight ball as her chin chattered into her chest.  

 

“And why exactly do we need to remove her robes when she’s this cold?  Shouldn’t we be piling on stuff, not taking it off?” Ginny asked rather loudly as the nurse ran out of the room. 

 

“We have magical blankets and heating spells that will work much faster if they are against her bare skin.  The robes just hinder the process.  Now, please…”

 

“Hermione, we need to get these robes off.”  Ginny stroked her hair soothingly as another violent tremor seemed to freeze the blood in her veins. 

 

Other voices were talking, they sounded a bit frantic and Hermione struggled to focus on their words - something about tracking down Healer Rockwell.  For a solitary moment, the tremors stopped, Hermione staring at the ceiling, still gripping her own body.  Ginny must have thought this was a good time to act and managed to pull the robes away from her, prying her fingers lose.  Even her vision seemed frozen in place, unable to decipher anything other than the textures in the plaster covering the ceiling.  The sounds in the room crackled and popped, or maybe it was just her own ears freezing.  Hermione considered that possibly the ice running through her veins was beginning to crack and melt from the wave of intense light and heat that the Healer was waving around her.

 

Faintly, she recognized the sensation of her own flesh touching itself.  Her arms felt bare against her stomach, but each felt somewhat numb, beyond the point of feeling cold.  It was kind of relaxing with every portion of her body lacking in sensation.  

 

A door slammed, or at least she thought it slammed.  It sounded muffled.  All the voices sounded muffled.  Had she been moved to another room?  

 

“Get this blanket on her, fast.”

 

The light in the room dimmed.  A large blue shade drifted above her and then the light returned.

 

“What’s this?” Ginny asked.  Something warm stroked the inside of her arm.  

 

“It’s a bruise.”

 

“I know that, but look at this…” the voice faded out.

 

Her head felt heavy, the random swirl in the plaster blurred.  She could almost drift off into sleep.  

 

*** 

 

“Oh, shite!” a voice cried from the nearby room.

 

“What the hell was that?” Ron asked, releasing his grip so that John effectively fell from tip-toes to the floor.  Harry was half a step ahead of him as they bolted back into the exam room.

 

Expecting to find Hermione on the exam table, Ron’s eyes found nothing but blue vinyl and instead darted to the figure on the floor, partially covered in a wooly blue blanket.  The room buzzed with chaos.  Ginny crumpled to her knees at Hermione’s head, immediately patting her cheeks and stroking her hair as she lay sprawled on the floor.  The Healer yelled out something to the nurse about incompetence.

 

“Step back!” the Healer called.  “Wingardium Leviosa.”  Hermione floated off the floor and Ginny rose with her.

 

“Let me through!” John shouted, pushing on Ron’s back.  He wanted to knock him on his arse, but Harry stepped aside and John burst into the room.

 

“What the fuck happened?” John asked wide-eyed as Hermione levitated higher.

 

“She…she just rolled off the table.”  Ginny muttered, her own face full of shame and grief as if the entire incident had been her fault.  “She was just lying there and then she rolled off the table.”  

 

“Bloody hell, Gin, she just cracked her head on the floor two days ago.”

 

“I know…I’m sorry, she just…”

 

As if the room needed more people, another voice rose from behind Ron.  “Excuse me.”

 

It was a knee-jerk reaction, Ron’s thoughts probably still focused on John, but he swung around and nearly punched the man who held the door open before noting the official looking uniform.

 

“Oh, thank Merlin.”  Ginny cried, noticing the man.  “Healer Rockwood, please, we need your help.”

 

“Yes, well…what happened here?”

 

The mass of protective men parted like an opening night curtain as the Healer entered the room.  Seven sets of eyes darted around, some worried, some aggravated, one set however, remained closed.

 

The female Healer began to explain Hermione’s care to Healer Rockwood as Ron looked on.  “Her body temperature dropped dangerously low.  I issued a dry heat spell and used a thermagical wrap.  Her shivers stopped and then suddenly she rolled off the exam table.”

 

“What is wrong with you people!” John yelled.  “You just let her roll off the table?  What are you all, idiots?”

 

Ginny looked particularly affected by his words and Ron couldn’t help but respond, the control over his temper dwindling quickly.  His opinions of this man had long since turned sour as he leaned over him.  “They’re trying to help her, dickhead!  It was obviously an accident.”  Despite being irked at the carelessness in her care, he couldn’t help but defend his sister.

 

“I’ve had just about enough of you!”  John launched himself at Ron, his height the disadvantage as he tried to reach a hand around Ron’s throat.  

 

Harry immediately wedged his arms between them, giving Ron enough space to reach for his wand.  He was really itching to hex this guy and he felt the slender wood in his fingers, drawing the wand from his pocket.  Harry must have given a hard shove because John tumbled to the floor and Ron saw his opportunity.  He felt his wrist flick back, but before he could get anything off, a female voice cried out and he found himself immobile - mid-spell.  

 

“That’s enough!”  Ginny cried.

 

Ron had no choice but to listen.  He was frozen in place, his eyes the only thing working and even they wouldn’t shift, only allow him to use his peripherals to note how John was being held to the floor by some invisible force and silent as well.

 

“If you two are done swapping insults, we have other more important things to tend to.”  Ginny’s face was flushed, some strands of hair slipping out of her pony tail highlighting her heightened temper.

 

The room remained silent except for Harry, Ron and John’s heavy breathing.  

 

“R-ron?”  Hermione’s whisper was soft, weak, but clear as an icy dagger in Ron’s ear.  “What are you d-doing?” Hermione asked, still lying flat under the blanket, her head tipped to the side and eyes wider than usual, clearly in accusation.  She glanced between his wand hand and John’s frozen form on the floor and then back to him with utter disbelief in his actions.

 

The anger that had penetrated him seconds earlier, rushed out with that single heart-wrenching look.  She was pained by his actions and that alone drew all the rage from his body like a siphon.  Ron wanted to thank his sister profusely for this moment.  Not only couldn’t he speak, and there were no words that could explain this, but she had prevented him from cursing this git who had somehow weaseled himself into Hermione’s life.  The same git that for whatever reason…meant something to her.  He’d never understand why, but her feelings were what mattered.

 

 

“Now…” Ginny spoke, pointing her wand from Ron to John and back  “…I will release you and then I expect both of you to leave this room so that we can take care of Hermione.  We’ve had enough jealous displays of testosterone for one day.  I hope I’m clear.”  Ron was sure that his sister meant this comment for John and tried to brush it off his shoulder, but he still felt a twinge of guilt.

 

She waved her arm and Ron felt his limbs fall back under his own control.  His arm, poised in the air, lowered, the wand still gripped tightly, but now at his side.  

 

Unwilling to turn his back on the idiot, Ron backed toward the door and held it open, his eyes fixated on John who, in true dickhead fashion, got to his feet, brushed a hand through his hair and spoke to Hermione.  “I’ll be right outside waiting for you.”  He looked at the Healer.  “You’ll come and find me when you have something to report?”

 

Healer Rockwood nodded once and John glared at Ron as he walked out of the room.  Ron posted himself as sentry directly next to the door, his wand still in his grip as he crossed his arms.  Harry had taken a somewhat similar, however less threatening, pose across the hallway and about fifteen feet down.

 

John opted for a vinyl covered bench a few feet farther down the hall, about halfway between the main nursing station and Hermione’s room.  Ron felt an internal grunt of satisfaction at having run him off this far.

 

  _Good riddance!_  

 

A fair amount of time passed.  Ron did little but pick apart John’s every movement, his appearance, his mannerisms, the irksome way he liked to run his fingers through his hair.  Something about this man was beyond annoying and yet his speech about him being the one to take care of her, him sleeping with her…it all kept repeating in his head, infuriated and paining him more and more.

 

Ron accepted that he had no claim on her, no reason to expect she was going to come home and run into his arms.  He knew that.  And yet, flashes from their happier days together kept reminding him of what it felt like to belong to her and for her to belong to him.  Why did that have to change?  It always came back around to him.  He shouldn’t have let her go.  The blame solely rested on him and now he had to pay the price, watching this other man covet his girl.  Surely she could see how much of a git he was?  Maybe she was just too sick to recognize it?  _His_ Hermione was always such a good judge of character, so why in Merlin’s starry sky would she go for this jerk?  Was she drunk at the time she met him?  Unlikely.

 

Ron’s heart sunk at the next suggestion.  Was she lonely?  Again, that would put the cause back in Ron’s court.  He shook his head internally at the suggestion that once again, his lack of communication could have driven her to such desperation as to pick this imbecile.  But, the look on her face before when he nearly cursed the man…she seemed stunned, hurt even.  

 

_Can she honestly care for this guy?_  

 

Ron’s eyes shifted back in John’s direction.  He was pacing the floor now.

  

  _And, if she does, can I actually harm him if doing so will hurt her in the process?_

 

Although standing near the door, he heard very little coming from the exam room and nearly jumped when the door opened and Ginny stepped out.  The question was out of his lips before he even had time to think.  “Is she alright?”

 

Harry and John both approached.  All differences seemed to be put aside as the men listened for the update.  “She’s better.  Her temperature has leveled out.  They’re going to keep her for a while, probably overnight…for observation.”

 

“Can I see her?” John cut in.  Ron and Harry both glanced at him and then met each other’s gaze.

 

“She’s sleeping, John.  Healer Rockwood gave her a mild sleeping draught since she seemed really exhausted.  The Healers are still talking, trying to figure this out.  It would probably be best if you just go back to work and let her rest.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere.”  John demanded.

 

“Honestly, she’s going to be dead to the world for hours.  Why don’t you go home and get some rest yourself and then you’ll be better prepared to help her when she wakes up.”  Ginny’s explanation seemed sincere enough and John must have trusted her for he finally nodded in agreement.

 

Ginny tossed a look to Ron that he understood to mean it was time for him to go as well.  She seemed to have matters in hand.  Harry walked over and slapped Ron on the shoulder just as Ginny took John’s arm.  “Here, I’ll walk with you out and we can talk.”

 

Harry tipped his head down the hall to encourage Ron to join him and they walked slowly behind Ginny and John, pausing at the intersection to watch as Ginny escorted him to the exit.  Satisfied John was actually leaving, they turned and strode toward the Floo at the end of the hall.

 

*** 

 

Hermione was so sick of hospitals.  If she never sat in one again it would be too soon.  Every room seemed to be the same as the last and each one only reminded her of some other form of torture.  Not physical per se, but emotional, psychological – test after test, having her clothing stripped off by strangers as another set of medical eyes poked and prodded, stared in disbelief.  Conversations were held about her, often ignoring the fact she was right there in the room.  She had become the medical mystery that all the Healers wanted to come see.

 

Waking up from this last peculiar bout with her low running nuclidites, she only wanted to get out as quickly as possible.  It was true that being so cold before had frightened her and she had been more than willing to come in to the hospital.  She even allowed John to wrap his arms around her in support.  When faced with one’s own mortality, other concerns get pushed aside in favor of survival.  And that is how she had felt at the time.  

 

Buried somewhere beneath her stubbornness, resolve and determination, a very frightened girl wanted some assurance, someone to care for her and to trust in.  John would not have been her first pick, but he was all that was available at the time.

 

As much as she wanted him to move out, this one occasion she had thanked her lucky stars that he was there.  She meant to get up, do her normal morning routine and head in to work for the first weekly staff meeting, just as Lola had mentioned.  Of course, whether she was actually able to continue in her job was another uncomfortable discussion waiting to be had.  Still, this was to be her introduction to the staff and as long as she had the energy she was going to at least try.  

 

Somehow, her body had slipped into some bit of REM that left her unable to hear the buzzing from her alarm.  That had to have been the only explanation for she never heard anything, but then suddenly awoke shivering in her bed.  No number of blankets would help, not even a hot shower.  She glanced down at the flush on her skin, probably from the water temperature being just a bit too high.  Finally, when she felt sure that ice had replaced the blood in her veins, she called out for help to the unlikely companion in the next room.

 

Now, she was warm as toast, a bit groggy from a sleeping draught that Healer Rockwood had insisted on giving her, and donning her fifth set of lovely blue hospital gowns.   Chuckling to herself, she wondered if she could just replace her wardrobe with the blue cotton smocks and save on shopping trips.

 

“Ms. Granger,” the voice spoke as the door opened.  “Glad to see you’re awake.”

 

Hermione smiled at Healer Rockwood as if meeting an old friend for cocktails.  They had seen so much of each other in the past week, he felt like family.

 

“Feeling better?”

 

“Yes, much, thank you.  Can I go home now?”

 

The smile remained, but Hermione noticed the shift from friendly smile to healer smile.  It was subtle, but she recognized the difference.

 

“I’m not sure if that’s wise.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Well, your nuclidite count has dropped another point.  Now, this doesn’t mean that you still couldn’t level off, but the fact that your body is having difficulty with maintaining its temperature means that you could be worsening.  I’m hesitant to let you leave in this condition.”

 

“I understand that, but I’m so much more comfortable at home.  The Floo will be hooked up soon so I’m only seconds away if I need to get here.”

 

“Yes, but you don’t have anyone to help you.”

 

“Yes, she does,” a familiar voice cut in from the doorway.  John was wearing a fresh blue button down shirt and khaki trousers, his hair slightly damp from a recent shower.  “I’ll be there with her.”

 

Hermione closed her eyes, biting her teeth together as she realized that no matter how much she hated the idea of him staying with her, this might be her only way out.  Forcing a smile on her face, she looked back at Healer Rockwood with innocent credulity over this assuring fact.

 

“Don’t you have a job?” the Healer asked.  “Places you need to be during the day?”

 

John glanced at her and she tried to figure out if his expression spelled concern or possibly some form of twisted delight at having her all to himself.  She couldn’t be sure if he wanted to care for her or buy more lacy lingerie and attempt to coerce a fashion show.

 

“I’m a student and I’m on summer leave at the moment.”

 

Hermione wanted to rebuke that statement, complain about the fact that he still didn’t have a job, that he was mooching off of her, but again, it seemed a bad idea at the moment.  Once she was home, they could have that discussion.

 

Healer Rockwood’s gaze shifted between them, obviously weighing the pros and cons.  “If your count drops much more…well…”

 

Hermione shivered at his halting statement and it wasn’t a shiver of cold.  A thick, sort of dry gulp lodged itself in her throat roughly before she managed to speak.  “What about the blood donors?  Any luck?”  The question had to be asked even though she dreaded the response.

 

“Not so far.  I’m still looking.  I’ve exhausted all data from England and most of Europe, but I’m expanding to the United States now.  I have a couple of contacts over there.”

 

Hermione looked away, not wanting the Healer and certainly not John to see the combined disappointment and fear that flashed in her eyes.  “Thank you,” she mumbled, gathering what little courage she could muster to attempt a faint smile.

 

“So, does this mean she can come home?” John interrupted.

 

“You understand that I need her back here in two days to check her level again?”

 

“Absolutely, doctor…um…I mean…Healer.  Sorry, I’m not used to the terminology.”

 

“That’s alright, many of the Muggleborns call me doctor.”  Healer Rockwood turned back to Hermione.  “I’ll have the nurse come in and get you your clothes and you can sign out and head home.”

 

Hermione nodded her acknowledgement and the Healer turned and walked out.  Finding herself alone in the room with John, she checked the blue smock to make sure everything was covered and sat back on the bed, tucking some errant curls behind her ear.  Uncertain of what to say, she caught John’s eye, but quickly looked away, unwilling to get into any meaningful conversations until she was safely at home.

 

Before she could even rustle up any feelings of apprehension, John was at her side, his hands stroking her arms, brushing over her cheeks.  “Are you alright, baby?  You really scared me before.”  He kept trying to get her to look at him, his head bobbing and ducking to put itself in her line of sight.

 

When she finally looked at him, all she wanted to do was try and bow out of their new and barely tolerable relationship.  Common sense kept holding her back, along with several flashbacks of some tense moments in the hospital just hours earlier.  Ron, Harry and Ginny had all been there.  It was clear they were concerned about her and truth be told, she’d rather be going home with one of them, but they weren’t around now.  Somehow that point bothered her more than anything.  Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to stay with Harry and Ginny after all?  But they were both lead employees at their jobs and she couldn’t ask them to stay home and take care of an invalid.  Ron had a girlfriend and a burgeoning career to keep him busy, but she had to admit that underneath the pain and the chills, some left over brain receptors had fired off with joy at having seen him in the hospital room earlier.  Perhaps there was a true friendship there to salvage, but was there time? 

 

In a different world, a different time, one that existed before a trip to Budapest, she might have fought for that possibility.  Even if the romance between them had failed, she would truly have loved to revive their friendship.  It would have been tops of her list and she was prepared to put all her energy into it.  Now, she wondered if it really mattered.  Wouldn’t it hurt him more to gain her back as a friend and then lose her entirely?  At least he had acted as her champion, although she felt bad for John when he nearly got cursed.  She wasn’t sure what had brought it on, but Ron’s temper had obviously gotten the best of him again.  John was usually so polite and charming, it couldn’t have been anything but...

 

She paused that thought.  The next word was jealousy, but she didn’t dare say it.  That would mean that she _meant_ something to Ron, something more than just a childhood friend.  

 

It seemed like hours had passed, but was clearly just seconds as John’s touch snapped her back to the present.

 

She truly wasn’t sure why she said it, but it slipped out.  “John, I wanted to apologize.”

 

“Apologize?” he cut her off.  “For what?  You haven’t done anything.”

 

“Not for me, for Ron.  I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but it was rude for him to raise his wand on you like that before.  He’s a really good friend and sometimes he just gets worked up about things.”

 

“I was going to talk to you about that.”  Hermione watched him intently, wondering what was coming next.  John looked down, playing with a thread in the fourth blanket laying across her lap.  “I realize he’s an old school friend, but I think it might be best if you ask him to stay away for a while.  I’m afraid that having him get all upset around you isn’t good for your health.  You need a calm, quiet environment.  He’s an officer of the law.  He’s used to running around, catching criminals, beating people up.  It’s his nature to be tough, but he just seems angry all the time and I don’t think it’s good for you to be around him.”

 

Hermione felt herself going on the defensive almost immediately.  “Ron’s a very gentle person.  You just don’t know him yet.”

 

“That may be, but so far he’s been very belligerent with me.  Seems like he has something against me.”  He raised his eyebrows innocently.  “I have no idea why.”  He leaned in and kissed her cheek.  “I’m just here trying to help you, baby.”

 

Hermione tried not to flinch, instead smiling as she drew back from his lips, hoping to disguise her unease.  She had witnessed Ron’s temper and could see what John meant.  It _was_ baffling.  Ron typically didn’t go off on people for no reason and yet she had seen it with her own eyes.  Could he really be that jealous?  Her heart was about to soar with the thought when the door opened.

 

The nurse walked in, asking John to leave so that Hermione could get dressed.  Within ten minutes she signed herself out and slowly, but under her own power, walked back to the Floo. 

 

*** 

 

 Ron sat at his desk, re-reading the same report and nervously tapping a pencil for what seemed like hours.  The nail on his thumb was already nibbled down to the quick.  Thankfully, the usually busy department hummed with a gentle mundanity with memos flitting about and Auror Macy doing his usual job of monitoring the Muggle news stations.  The only thing keeping Ron rooted to his desk was a past due report and the assurance that Hermione was sound asleep at St. Mungo’s, monitored by someone other than John the dirt ball.

 

His eyes darted up at the sound of the nearby door opening.  It was Harry who slipped on his robes as he wound through the maze of desks, stopping once to answer a question from a nearby subordinate.  Ron glanced back down at his nearly empty parchment and attempted to write something meaningful, hoping not to make his disquiet even more obvious.  It was no surprise when he heard his mate’s voice.

 

“Hey, Ron.”  Harry leaned on the wall next to Ron’s desk.  They met each others’ eyes but didn’t move, Ron shifting back to his notes.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Just had a fun conversation with Lola.  She’s still all wound up over Hermione’s no show today.  Seems to think this is all my fault for recommending her.”

 

“Yeah, well…I guess she’ll just have to understand.”

 

“So, are you feeling as distracted as me today?” Harry asked.

 

A small wave of relief loosened Ron’s shoulders.  He wasn’t the only one feeling this way.  “You, too, huh?”

 

“Of course, me, too.  She doesn’t look real good, but I don’t know what to do for her.  Ginny seems to be on top of things.  I mean, she’s checking in with that Healer specialist a few times a day and getting updates, but Hermione’s blood type is really rare and combining that with finding a matching magical type…well, I guess it’s kind of tricky.  At least that’s what Ginny is telling me.”

 

“How do you test someone for their magical type?” Ron asked, now drilling a hole in the parchment with the tip of his quill.

 

“I’m not sure.  I wish I could help, but she can’t test me because I’m not pure blood.”

 

“Well, I am, but no one’s tested me.”  Ron’s irritation was evident.

 

“I think they were matching against known blood donors to find her blood type.”

 

“Well, they should be checking everyone!”  Ron’s eyes flashed with sincere agitation.  “For Merlin’s sake, I have seven other pure-blood family members!  What if the cure is right here?”

 

“I know, and Ginny mentioned that, but I think your blood type is wrong.”

 

Ron let out a very deep breath, one that carried with it days worth of stress, anger and sincere concern.  “Harry, we can’t just sit here and let her slip away.”  Ron glanced up, his eyes wracked with angst and a need for solidarity from his mate.

 

“We won’t Ron.  Ginny will figure something out.”  Harry gripped his shoulder, giving a slight squeeze in support.  “Look, um…Kingsley needs to see us.  Something’s come up.  Maybe when we’re done we can stop back at the hospital and check on her.”

 

“Yeah, alright.”  Ron rubbed a roughened palm over his face and slightly whiskered chin, clearly trying to wipe away the expression on his face and replace it with the usual cold steel of the Auror mask.

 

Within a couple of minutes they were both seated in Kingsley’s office, trying to focus on their jobs and not the seriously ill girl they cared about more than anything.  Auror Williams hovered next to Kingsley’s large oak credenza, nodding a greeting to Ron, but drawing himself to a stiffer attention for Harry who quickly signaled him to relax.  Williams had been on several missions with Ron and Harry and they considered him a trusted team member and very competent Auror.  

                                                                                                          

Technically, Ron ranked below Harry one level, something that he didn’t mind, feeling very proud of his mate and the strides he had made in recent years.  Besides, Harry scarcely treated him differently except at certain formal events when he was required to act the part.  They were best mates, just as they always had been, no jealousy, no rivalry, only support and encouragement.

 

They rarely went on missions without each other and Kingsley seemed to like it that way.  He had mentioned on numerous occasions how the two of them balanced each other out with Ron’s sometimes spirited mood tempered by Harry’s more cerebral approach, sort of the good cop, bad cop routine at its best.  Not that Harry didn’t have his moments and there had been plenty of times when Ron had found himself the voice of reason, the calm figure of the two.

 

Harry had a real violent reaction toward criminals who hurt children.  He made it a point to visit orphanages and foster homes whenever possible and if he found any signs of abuse or mistreatment, he could make the owner wish they had never heard the name Harry Potter.  It was times like these where Ron asserted more control, detaching himself from the emotions of the situation and steering his partner to an appropriate resolution.

 

“So, do you two know what’s going on?” Williams asked, his arms crossed on his chest.

 

“No idea,” Ron replied, slouching slightly in the chair, his gaze still unfocused, his mind elsewhere.

 

Harry seemed to have noticed.  At least Ron got the impression that Harry’s comments were meant to get his head back in the game.  “I think it has to do with the escaped inmate in Budapest.”

 

“Carrow?”  Ron’s brow furrowed so deeply, he nearly had one single line across his forehead.  “We already questioned everyone at the hospital.  It’s clear how he escaped, but then we hit a big fucking dead end.”

 

“Thank you for the colorful description of your investigative skills, Auror Weasley.”  Kingsley’s low voice commanded the room, his long strides ahead of his billowing blue robes as he rounded on his desk.  Ron’s eyes rolled in reaction, a quick smirk gracing his face the moment Kingsley looked at him.

 

With one smooth move, Kingsley picked up a file off his desk and handed it to Ron.  “The Hungarian Constabulary has found another clue.”  Ron opened the file, his eyes drawn to a report attached to the inside front cover that he read aloud to the group.

 

“The victim, a Mr. Thomas Jergenson was struck down by the suspect without warning by an unknown spell.  He stated that he suddenly felt extremely weak and fell to the ground, losing his wand in the process.  The suspect questioned him, asking about his magical abilities and then challenged him to pick up his wand and raise a shield in order to save his life.  The suspect was described as thin, mid-to-late twenties, long salt and pepper hair with a blue smock like top and khaki pants with a stripe down the side.”  Ron ripped a photo out from under a paperclip and held it up for the others to see.  “Looks like Carrow to me.”

 

“It certainly does,” Harry echoed.

 

“The rest of the story…” Kingsley interjected, pointing to the report “…what isn’t in that folder, is the fact that Mr. Jergenson has never recovered from the attack.  Healers have been unable to determine the spell that was used, but the victim is unable to use magic of any kind.”

 

Ron’s lips parted in shock, a single blink all the time it took for the blood to congeal in his veins as he met Harry’s similar gaze.  Williams noticed the exchange, his eyes darting back and forth between the two, finally questioning their pale expressions.  “Something you’d like to share?”

 

Ron finally spoke, but more to Harry than to answer their question.  “Oh, fuck, Harry, you don’t think…?”

 

Harry looked bewildered, his eyes scurrying over the carpet as if trying to put some pattern together.

 

“What is it?”  Williams asked again, now standing upright, his calm posture lost to his associate’s dismayed reaction.  Likewise, Kingsley eyed them both, clearly wanting to be let in on the secret.

 

Harry sat rigidly, a green piercing gaze meeting Kingsley.  “What I say now does not leave this room.  Is that understood?”  Normally Kingsley wouldn’t be so quick to agree, but something about Harry’s bearing made both Williams and Kingsley nod acceptingly.

 

His words were direct as if chosen with particular thought.  “Our new Communications Officer, Ms. Granger?” he looked to Williams for comprehension who nodded “She…she is experiencing the same thing.”

 

“What do you mean?” Williams asked, clearly confused as if trying to figure out what she had to do with some escaped inmate near Prague.

 

“She went to a dedication ceremony last week, on my behalf” his eyes hit Ron’s for one split second, enough for Ron to read the remorse “and something happened.  We’re not sure what, but she called me that night from a hotel room in Budapest, very upset because she was unable to do any magic.  The Healers have been unable to figure out what exactly caused it.”

 

Kingsley frowned, his head turned down sadly at the news.  “Was she attacked in a similar manner?”

 

“She’s not aware of any attack.  She just woke up in a hospital and felt weak.  Ron and I have been spending so much time with her, there hasn’t been much time to really investigate this.”

 

“That is very sad.  Please give Ms. Granger my best and tell her I will do everything in my power to determine what has happened to her.  Such a brilliant mind.  It would be a real shame…”

 

“Kingsley, this can’t get out or she’ll loose her job and really, right now I think her job is the only thing that’s keeping her going.  I already spent an hour trying to convince Lola to give her some time off.”  Ron tensed his jaw, his eyes communicating his agreement with Harry.

 

“I understand.”  Kingsley tossed a commanding glance at Williams that was obviously meant to ensure he understood the need for silence.  “I think you three need to get over there and look into this much more.  If there’s a link between these two events, we need to find it.  Harry, you go interview Mr. Jergensen, see if there’s anything the authorities missed in their report.  Ron, Robert, you two find out where this incident happened with Ms. Granger in Budapest, track down any witnesses and get some reports.”

 

All three men nodded vigorously just before Ron started to rise, but Kingsley’s voice put him back in his seat.  “There is one other issue we need to discuss.”  Kingsley started walking toward his office door, turning back when he reached the knob, tossing the door open and gesturing toward someone in the hallway.  

 

“We have been notified of a potential national security risk.”  All three men tensed, watching the doorway and their supervisor with the utmost attention, but Ron seemed to pick up on the stifled smile that lingered just under Kingsley’s pursed lips.  It seemed odd to have him grin in the midst of such a tense moment, but also had the effect of lowering his blood pressure to a more healthy level.  Auror Williams had a penchant for practical jokes and Ron and Harry had been on the receiving end more than once.  Ron, Harry and Kingsley had spoken briefly about setting him up one of these days and it became apparent about two seconds later that this was the day.

 

Smiling vivaciously, Ginny stepped through the door, her bright red hair flowing over her scrub covered shoulders.  She looked like a girl with a mission.  

 

Kingsley gestured toward Ginny before addressing the room.  “I would like you to meet our liaison with the Department of Wizarding Health.”  

 

With a general aire of friendliness, she reached up on tip toes and kissed Kingsley on the cheek.  The usually distinctive supervisor suddenly had difficulty disguising the turned up corners of his mouth as she quickly made rounds, leaning down to hug and kiss her brother, then planting a soft, full, rather leisurely kiss on Harry’s lips that required a bit more body contact.  

 

Ron squinted, relaying that ‘alright, enough already’ look, but only got back a smug smile from Harry who rocked on his heels in obvious delight.  Catching Williams’ stunned expression, Ron couldn’t help but laugh to himself.  Williams didn’t know his sister, although, if he had half a brain, Ron was sure he could put two redheads together and come up with siblings.  Still, he appeared a bit shocked by Ginny’s intimate greetings to all the men.

 

Ginny stopped in front of the Auror, acting the part as Harry had instructed.  

 

“Well, you are a looker.”  She grinned, clearly eyeing him up to the point that Williams blushed quite profusely.  Harry seemed to be biting his lip awfully hard to keep from laughing.  “Hmm, hmmm.  So, your place or mine?”  She ran a single finger down the front of Williams’ robes.

 

“Uh…uh…ex…excuse me?” Williams stammered, looking to the others in the room for some kind of explanation.

 

“Well, if we’re going to work together, we need to get to know each other much better, wouldn’t you say?”  She stepped forward on the ‘much’ and then licked her lips with a slow, seductive action.

 

“Wh…well…um…”

 

“I could just do you here,” she answered bluntly, turning to Harry matter of factly.  “Harry’s couch is quite nice, would you mind, Harry?”

 

“What!” Robert finally cried, backing up, his cheeks trying to turn purple.

 

Unable to restrain themselves any longer, Harry, Ron and Kingsley all burst out in laughter.  Ginny, the consummate actress, remained in character with a hand on her hip and a precocious smile on her face.

 

Robert stared in muted horror for a second before he realized he had been duped and turned a disgusted grimace to the men in the room.  “Alright, I get it.  Very funny.”

 

Kingsley got control of himself first.  “Williams, let me introduce you to our liaison with the Department of Wizarding Health, Ginny Weasley.”  

 

“Weasley.”  Williams repeated, glancing at Ron who was still wiping his eyes.  “Cousin?”

 

“Sister,” Ginny corrected, still smiling.  “Nice to meet you.”  She reached out a much more formal hand.  

 

“Nice to meet you, too.”  He mumbled, finally taking her hand.  “So, wait, you’re his sister, but what about Kingsley?”

 

“Family friend.”  Ginny replied.

 

“Ah…and, Harry?  I mean, that was….well…”  Williams’ eyes were nearly rolling with mirth recalling the very hot kiss he had witnessed just seconds before.

 

Harry cut in before Ginny had a chance to answer.  “She’s my girlfriend.  My very steady, committed, soon to be more than just a girlfriend, girlfriend.  Clear?”

 

Ginny pivoted around to sit in the chair beside Harry, setting a hand on his leg.  “Aw, Harry.  Do you mean that?”

 

“I certainly do, Miss Weasley.”  Harry kissed her again, lightly before she wiggled in her chair, directing her focus to the stack of parchment now on her lap.

 

Williams was still staring at her and Ron decided to get in one more rib before moving on with business.  “Stop ogling my sister, Williams or I’ll have Harry pummel you.”

 

Kingsley chuckled and sat down in his own chair as Williams cleared his throat, scrunching his face as if trying to bring a more pale hue back to his cheeks.

 

The laughter quickly settled – the moment of levity over.  With all the recent tension and distress over Hermione’s situation, Ron had to admit, this brief bit of laughter was welcome.  The smile dropped from his face all the quicker thinking about her, knowing she had nothing to smile about at the moment.  When she did smile, it was honestly hypnotizing.  Something about Hermione’s eyes when she smiled, they filled a room with joy.  He shot a quick look at Harry, wondering if he felt the same way about Ginny’s eyes and Ginny’s smile.  His sister was beyond smitten.  That was obvious.  He wanted to be happy for them, wanted to joke with Williams, but envisioning Hermione shivering on that table brought him crashing back to reality and the discussion at hand.

 

Ron raised a curious eye as Kingsley continued, pulling another folder from his desk and flipping it open.  The rest of the room had joined him in all seriousness.  “The Prague Auratzi” he looked up at the men to explain “in other words, the Aurors and the Czech Ministry of Health, in cooperation with the British Department of Health and Social Services has been investigating the spread of a new and recently deadly illness that is impacting pure-blood witches and wizards throughout Europe and the British Isles.  The trail of cases seems to have begun in Prague, with several more reported in Vienna, followed by two cases in Frankfort, six in Alkmaar, just outside Amsterdam and finally twelve in England.  Based on this pattern, it is believed that the source of the disease is in the Prague area.  Ginny?”  Kingsley motioned for her to continue.

 

“I made some contacts with the Czech Ministry of Health…”

 

“Wait, “ Williams interrupted.  “You mean, you really are the liaison with the…”

 

“Yes, I am.”  Ginny cut him off and Williams snapped his mouth shut and began listening much more closely.

 

“So, as I was saying, I made some contacts and they gave me a list of labs in the area that do blood testing, genetic testing, tissue sampling, even a couple that are managed through the university.  I’ve eliminated several, but there are three on this list that I’d like to personally visit.  I don’t think this is a chance event, this looks more like a manufactured disease which is why I’m focusing on the labs.  One in particular looks very suspicious.  The Ministry of Health had no real information on it, just hearsay.”

 

“Gin, I don’t think that’s wise.”  Harry cut in, his protective nature showing through like a flashlight in the fog at midnight.

 

“I agree, “ Kingsley interjected “and that is why I’m sending you three.  We need to check out these facilities.  Ms. Weasley has assembled a detailed list of the types of equipment, samples and specific names we should look for.”

 

Ginny began handing parchment out to the three of them.  When reaching Ron, Ginny placed a gentle hand on her brother’s shoulder.  “Ron, you promise me to be extra careful.  You’re at the greatest risk of catching this.  Don’t touch anything without protection, shield charms at minimum.”

 

“I’ll be careful, don’t worry.”  Ron replied, smiling assuredly.

 

“I need you to leave tonight.  Portkeys are being set up.  I hope they’ll be ready in about thirty minutes.”

 

“What’s the hurry, Kingsley?”  Harry asked, answering both his and Ron’s question.

 

“We have reason to believe that the person or persons who are responsible for the spread of this disease are aware of this impending search and may be trying to vacate their labs within the next day.  We need to act quick.”

 

All three men exchanged worried glances before finding Kingsley once more.  “It seems that someone with connections to this department or St. Mungo’s was tipped off.”

 

“You’ll check on Hermione while we’re gone?” Ron asked his sister.

 

“Every chance I get.”

 

“Alright, Harry…Robert…I guess we’re off to Prague.”

  


	10. Chapter 10 - The Pest and the Pestilence

  
Author's notes:

About two weeks after I wrote this chapter, I was looking through some CDs and found one a friend had lent me but I'd never listened to.  I put it in the car's CD player and when I got to the song "Slide" by Dido, I couldn't believe what I was hearing.  The lyrics matched almost exactly what I had written for this chapter.  I thought this was just so exciting that I've listed the lyrics that pertain at the top of the section in this chapter.  If you ever listen to this song, maybe it will spark a little thought about Ron and Hermione.

 

* * *

  

Ginny stood.  “Before you three leave, I want to get some blood samples, just to establish a baseline and when you get back, I’ll test you again.” 

 

One at a time, Ginny pulled them aside, took the samples, carefully labeling each, storing them in a small pouch and then shrinking it and slipping it in her pocket.

 

Robert was the first one done.  He tossed Ginny an awkward smile, probably still feeling the lingering effects of her roving eyes and he rolled his sleeve down.  “I’ll meet you two by the lifts in fifteen.”  

 

Ron and Harry nodded their understanding, slipping their robes back on.  Ron picked up both of the folders, shrinking them as well to fit in his inside pocket.  Before he could get out the door, Ginny stepped into his path, her brown eyes radiating concern.

 

“I know I said it before, but please remember this disease has killed someone.  It seems to attack pure-bloods only, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t dangerous to others.”  Her swift glance at Harry told Ron all he needed to know.  This could be dangerous to both of them.

 

“I get it, Gin.  I’ll be careful.”

 

“It’s just that…well…you’ve been a little distracted lately with Hermione and I just…I need you to focus on this.”

 

Belatedly, Ron noticed the intensity of his sister’s fear.  It was so similar to the looks she gave him when they were playing together as children and Ron would dare to do something stupid, falling and hitting his head or leaving some wound that Ginny would frantically try to heal, usually running to Molly for help.  She was still the same little girl, always wanting to help people, to make them better.  And still worrying about her brother.

 

With a sudden gush of affection, Ron pulled her into his chest.  “Don’t worry Ginny.  I promise I won’t fall out of the tree.”  He gave one last squeeze and backed away, hearing her stuttered inhale and deep exhale.  Blinking rapidly to clear the extra water in her eyes, her lips curled up in one of those ‘I’m fine, stop staring at me’ smiles.  Harry must have noticed as well for he had her wrapped in his arms before she could even sniffle.

 

With a quick shift of his brow, Ron gave his farewell.  “I’ll meet you downstairs in a few.”  

 

Now that it was just the two of them, Ginny quickly wiped her eyes.  Harry spun her around in his arms.  “Gin, you know he’s always careful and either Robert or I will be with him.”  He tipped her chin up, waiting for her to look at him directly.  “Please don’t worry.”  He leaned over and gently kissed her again on the lips.

 

“I know.  It’s just between Hermione being sick and the stress at work and then worrying about you two…you be careful, too.  Just because you’re not pure-blood doesn’t mean you can’t catch this or something else.  Who knows what these labs could have lying around.  Cover your nose and mouth and wear gloves.  And…”

 

“I promise to be careful.  If Voldemort couldn’t get rid of me, then nothing will.”

 

Ginny gazed at him slightly wide-eyed, a mix of concern and something else, perhaps curiosity, as she quoted him from earlier.  “You just make sure you come home to your steady, committed, soon to be more than just a girlfriend girlfriend.”

 

Harry’s eyes twinkled, his lips turning up slightly.  That look made her knees wobble.  “Keep the pillow warm for me.”

 

“Is that all you can think of?  Sex?  When you’re supposed to be looking out for my brother and keeping yourself safe?” she replied sarcastically, a hint of humor finally in her tone.

 

“How about this…” he pulled her waist a bit closer  “I promise to look out for your brother, focus all my thoughts on the serious mission if you, my little siren of sexiness will promise to have completely erotic dreams about me while I’m gone.”

 

“Erotic, huh?”  It was all she could manage with her increasingly rapid heart beat.

 

“Hotter than hot.  Wet your knickers hot.”  Harry winked, coyly slipping his hands against her arse and teasing her stomach with his hidden erection.  Whispering in her ear, he nibbled the lobe.  “We have serious things to talk about when I get back.”

 

She gasped involuntarily before smiling, eyes closed from Harry’s chilling brushes over her ear and hard length pressing into her.  “Serious, or erotic?”

 

“Both.”  He reached a hand through her hair and quickly covered her mouth with his, a warm tongue slipping between her lips for a few final seconds.  And then he withdrew, his expression turning back to business as he seemed to struggle with the lack of moisture in his mouth.  “You get a message to me if anything happens with Hermione.  I have a Muggle cell phone with me.  You have the number, right?” 

 

She nodded.  “I’ll call if anything changes.”

 

“Love you.”  He tapped her nose and turned to make a quick exit, Ginny shouting out after him.  “Love you, too.”

 

*** 

  

Hermione struggled to stay asleep, the remnants of a dream just tickling the edge of her consciousness.  The specifics were already fading, but her slow heart rate must have meant it wasn’t a frightening dream.  It seemed long, as if she had immersed herself in a novela that encompassed hours of time, story after story, blending and moving.  Surprisingly, the only part she seemed to recall more than anything involved John standing beside her, a funny smell like eucalyptus and alcohol and then, just as suddenly, Ron calling to her from across a meadow, trying to warn her of something.  The sun had been shining so brightly, the day hot and humid in her dream and Hermione realized that the pillow case felt damp beneath her head.

 

How could her room be so stifling?  This building had central air conditioning.  Most likely, the unbearable heat made the final decision for her as she opened her eyes, nothing but darkness to welcome her back.  Rolling to her left, she pushed herself up from the mattress, trying to get her bearings and quickly gasped at the ache in her arm.  It was too dark to see, but it felt bruised.  Purely out of habit, she reached for her wand on the side table, but the truth of her magicless life slammed her in the gut and she stopped, her fingers just lingering over the slim handle.  That wand had been such an integral part of her life for so many years; it chose her, it worked better for her than anyone else in the entire world.  So, why wouldn’t it work now?  Looking away bitterly, she instead tried to focus on slowing down her distraught breathing.

 

It really was hot.  Something had to be wrong with the air.  Cautiously, she stood and maneuvered her way toward the window.  As usual, John had pulled the curtains closed and Hermione reached for them, hoping to open the window and try to entice a breeze into her room.

 

As she pulled the cord to shuttle the curtain across, a bright beam of moonlight shot into the room with bars of gray shadow every few inches.  Stripes colored her bed as she turned to find the source.  Bars.  There were metal bars on her window.

 

“What…?” she muttered to herself, reaching up to feel them and determine if, somehow, there was a way for her to swing them away from the window or retract them into the ceiling, but they were firmly in place.  This was perplexing.  She remembered a brief conversation with John where he mentioned security, but this seemed bizarre.

 

Wiping the back of her hand over her perspiring forehead, she reached out to the nearby dresser for balance.  It was just too hot.  Her skin burned, head pounded.

 

With the moonlight now guiding her, she shuffled to her bedroom door and opened it slowly, anticipating that John would be asleep on the couch.  The comfort of knowing another person lived here teetered on the fulcrum of solace with a wedge of distrust and resigned sorrow on the other end.  If no one else would accept her, she had little choice but to take what was offered.  She had all but given up on Ron’s desires for her.  To think about Ron’s absence from her life would have sent her spinning if it hadn’t been for the overpowering inferno raging in her head.  

 

The living area had a large picture window that let in a lot of light.  The room felt breezy just because of that window.  It was one of the main things that attracted Hermione to the flat in the first place.  So, finding the curtains open was like a blast of cool, wide-open relief on her skin, even though she continued to burn up.  Gripping the back of the couch, she leaned over expecting to find her semi-permanent house guest, but surprisingly the cushions were bare.  Not even a blanket.

 Her head snapped up eliciting a groan from the building ache in her neck.  Where was John?  He promised he’d be here.  She listened.  The shower, the toilet, where else might he otherwise be?  Nothing filled the void of night except the thumping of her own heart and somewhat disjointed breathing.

_What time is it?_   

Shifting along the back of the furniture for support, she reached out for the wall, her fingers hunting for the electric light switch.  She pushed it down, catching herself on the wall in the process.

 

The room was suddenly swathed in bright light and Hermione squinted as her eyes adjusted.  The kitchen was neat and clean, some books stacked up on the table, everything in its place.  Her vision seemed blurry and she assumed some sleepies had built up while she dreamt and she carefully wiped the inside corners of her eyes.

 

Turning toward the wall that held the clock, she noticed the door to the spare bedroom.  Perhaps John was in there.  She hadn’t been home enough to help with the unpacking and for all she knew, he had set up a room for himself.  She didn’t like the idea, but it made sense.  At this point, she was beyond frustration and more disgusted with her own lack of conscience.  She wanted to care, to stand up tall and tell John to leave, to yank Ronald away from his Barbie doll and demand that he stay with her!  However, the only messages transmitting in her brain involved movement, touch and temperature.

 

Wiping her eyes again, the haze continued to block her way as she shuffled weakly in the direction of the clock, her fingertips testing the air ahead of her.  Blinking rapidly, she leaned in, her nose nearly touching the clock’s facing before she determined both hands were pointing to the right.  It must have been around 3:15 in the morning.

 

  _God, it’s so hot!_

 

She continued to palm the wall, scooting down toward the door, passing the thermostat on the way.  The numbers were too small to read, but she pushed the nob all the way to the left, trying to kick the system into blowing cold air into her flat.

 

“John?” she whispered, rough, desperate and suddenly confused of her surroundings.  Wasn’t he supposed to be here?  Faint memories rang in her ears, of healers giving instructions and promises being made and Ron angrily pointing a wand at him, his blue eyes on fire.  At least Ron seemed to be doing this job.  Ron.  Where was he?  She needed him.

 

Stumbling toward the picture window, sweaty palms smeared down the glass, her hip knocked over a plant that would no longer have the benefit of the morning sunlight.  Her breath condensed on the cool, clear separation between her and the moonlit night.  Something primal and instinctive built in her chest, like flowing lava moving up her throat and erupting with a wail.  “Ron!”  

 

*** 

 

Earlier that evening, the Portkeys activated delivering Ron, Robert and Harry to the end of a long driveway.  A line of tall, full leafy trees blocked most of their view, but flashes of color confirmed a substantial home nestled in the trees.  The three men started up the drive, told they would be arriving near the Hungarian home of the mayor, the man who had been present at Hermione’s attack.

 

“Well, let’s see if we can figure this out and get home.”  Robert started striding up the road with resolve.

 

“The important thing is to make sure we do it right.”  Harry corrected.  “You do realize that this is personal for us.”

 

Robert glanced back with a shrug.  “Yeah, she’s a friend of yours, right?”

 

“She’s more than that, mate,” Ron replied, his voice quick and sure.  

 

Ron’s long legs carried him determinedly past Robert who, after hearing his reply, looked to Harry again for clarification.

 

“I thought she was a school mate of yours?”  Harry’s slightly annoyed squint made Robert qualify his statement.  “I mean, I know she was with you when you fought You-Know-Who and all that…it’s just that I didn’t think there was anymore than friendship…or is there?”

 

Harry stared straight on, the stone pavement echoing his footsteps, Ron now far enough ahead not to hear the conversation.  “Not that it’s any of your business, Williams…”

 

“Oh, no, Sir.”  His reply matched the more formal and authoritative tone in Harry’s statement.  “I didn’t mean to be nosey.”

 

“You don’t think that friendship is a strong enough reason for us to consider this personal?  We’ve been through a lot together.  To me, she’s like the sister I never had.  To Ron, well…”

 

Robert seemed to understand the inference.  Besides, Ron had just reached the front porch of the home and a rather rotund looking man had appeared to greet him.  

 

Harry and Ron had long since discovered how their unwanted fame could open doors and turn even the most introverted or hesitant witness into a star informant.  Ron would flash a winning smile and then, with practiced flair and shining subtlety, drop Harry’s notorious name into the conversation and perhaps add a little wink, wink, nudge, nudge to bait the hook.

 

Most of the time, Harry didn’t have to do anything except stand tall and smile.  Grateful words and glowing compliments flowed like honey and Harry need only toss in a few of his corny, but effective signature phrases to get the job done.  “Voldemort’s pestilence will never again threaten our way of life.”  It was like reading from an instruction book on how to win friends and influence enemies.

 

And sure as snow in winter, the Mayor of Budapest stood enthralled, certainly star struck and more than willing to talk about anything.  Then Harry took over, leading the conversation while Ron utilized his well honed skills of observation.  The mayor explained how the ceremony had started with some introductions, a huge crowd gathering for the monument’s dedication.

 

The mayor’s wife came bustling in with a tray of beverages and snacks.  Robert took a biscuit, determining that the other items weren’t quite in his usual repertoire of appetizing choices.  He tossed in a cheerful ‘thank you’ while Harry continued his interrogation disguised as friendly chat.  Ron opted to perform a slow scan of the house.  It wasn’t that they suspected the mayor or his wife of any wrong doing.  In fact, these two had been extremely helpful in getting Hermione to a hotel and back home safely.

 

However, years of investigating cases had taught them that no one could automatically be eliminated from suspicion without at least a cursory look.  Ron’s slow survey of the scene would often reveal clues or, at the very least, confirm or deny the truth being spoken by whomever Harry happened to be questioning at the time.  With one squint or clearing of the throat, Harry would instantly know if something was out of line.

 

Robert had even witnessed this form of stealth communication on several occasions and still voiced his awe of how well the two mates were in synch.

 

At the moment, Robert distracted the mayor’s wife with her shining silver tea set and offerings of crudités.  Ron lazily dragged a finger over a particularly ornate box that occupied center stage of a doily-covered dark mahogany table.  While Harry complimented the mayor on his quick help with Hermione, he noticed Ron’s gesture and the hidden meaning.

 

This home, large, but still ordinary and average in its accoutrements, held several items of distinct value.  Not that there was anything wrong with that; many middle class people inherited family heirlooms or acquired treasures that would otherwise seem out of place in the typical home.  However, it was still to be noted as Ron continued his tour.

 

After about fifteen more minutes and Ron’s smile and acceptance of an hors de oeuvres, the signal that all was well, Harry suggested they move to the site of the actual attack.

 

“Attack?” the mayor contradicted, his wife’s tray clattering noisily as she set it on the sideboard.

 

“Oh, no, there vas no attack, Mr. Potter, or I’m to apologize, is it Auror Potter?” the mayor’s wife asked in her Hungarian accented English.

 

“Harry is fine.  You don’t need to be so formal.  I truly appreciate what you did for my friend, but it’s becoming clear to us that the incident was not merely a case of weak health.  Ms. Granger has been affected by something much stronger and it happened while she was in your town square.”

 

“Oh, dear.  Dat would be dreadful.  Such a fine young voman.”

 

“Yes, Ma’am, she is, and we’d really like to see the scene.”

 

“Of course.”  The mayor pointed toward the door and led the way to the front veranda, Harry and Robert in tow.  Ron hung back, smiling winningly at the mayor’s wife and helping her settle the tray before gesturing ‘ladies first’ to follow her out the front of the home.

 

“Ve take the auto?” the mayor suggested, opening the door to a shiny, black sedan parked along side the house as they all rounded the corner.

 

“Nice,” Ron complimented, but Harry once again noticed the inflection, the ‘too nice of an auto for a wizard mayor.  What does he need it for?’

 

Never the less, all of them climbed in, Ron, again, opening the door for the wife, playing the part of gentleman extraordinaire while using the moment for more surveillance of the surrounding area.  Ensuring all was safe, he entered the sedan himself.

 

It was only a twenty minute ride to the scene.  Parking along a cobblestone side street, they walked fifty or so yards through what must have been the Muggle entrance to the magical neighborhoods of Budapest.  Soon, the mayor and his wife were re-enacting the ceremony and, specifically, the moments leading up and to and just after Hermione’s collapse.

 

“And zen, she just fall,” the wife mimicked, now standing in front of the large monument which had obviously still been revealed.  “Here.”

 

“And you were where exactly?”  Harry asked.  They moved around to demonstrate.  “You said two of your staff were standing here?”  

 

“Yez, Edvard and Karoly were just here.  Members of my security staff.”

 

“Could I meet them?”  Harry asked.

 

“Certainly,” the mayor offered.

 

Within minutes, the Mayor’s aides had arrived.  After more questioning, it was decided that indeed something odd had occurred.  Apparently, Karoly was embarrassed and afraid to admit that something had broached his security that day, in fact, scorching a hole through his robes. 

 

It was beginning to get late, the sky no longer bright enough to allow a proper look around and the three of them realized that Prague was looming and needed immediate attention.  The mayor kept insisting that Harry have dinner with them, which he declined appreciatively, but he did insist that Ron and Robert go ahead to Prague to get started and he would follow shortly after getting another Portkey issued.

 

Having never been to Prague before, they had to keep to a scheduled Portkey departure.  Ron clearly felt troubled about separating from Harry, even though he illustrated it with keen subtlety.  

 

“Go ahead Ron.  I’ll just finish up here and join you.”  Harry turned a beaming smile to the mayor’s wife, who at this point was looking a little peaked at having learned of a supposed magical attack on Hermione.  “I just can’t turn down such a lovely dinner invitation.”

 

Ron knew this to mean that Harry felt comfortable with staying, thus relieving him to go without a guilty conscience.  

 

“Oh, how lovely,” the wife replied and Ron and Robert both bid them thanks and farewell, moving quickly to an open area as Ron checked his watch and realized the Portkey was about to activate.

 

With a massive tug, Ron sailed through the darkness.  Traveling by Portkey at night had taken some getting used to, even for a battle hardened Auror.  Being sucked through space in daylight was bewildering enough, but at least you could catch a glimpse of your landing and attempt to control the approach.  Traveling at night left any witch or wizard without reference points and very little time to prepare.

 

So, when Ron hit the ground fairly hard, he was thankful that all he received was a small cut on his arm.  He rolled to the ground, quickly gaining his feet in case he had to move away from Robert’s landing, but no other sound announced a second arrival.

 

“Williams?” Ron asked into the dark, allowing his eyes to adjust to the nearly moonless evening.  Nothing.  He was alone.  All was quiet as Ron glanced at the park like setting he had just invaded.  “Great.  Bloody Portkeys.”

 

The sound of traffic rushing on a nearby street meant he was in a metropolitan area.  This was good.  At least it made it more likely that he was actually in Prague proper.  Stepping around some nearby hedges, he happened onto a wide sidewalk moving down to his left and up to the right.  A large building with many windows towered over him on the right, two people strolling hand-in-hand toward him down the walkway.

 

Ron casually stepped a few feet down the walk and settled on a wooden bench, waiting for the Muggles to pass and, hopefully, for Williams to arrive.  Ron glanced at his watch.  “Damn.  Come on Williams.”  Still nothing and after waiting the prescribed fifteen minutes, Ron decided he would have to go it alone and hope that Robert caught up soon.

 

Rising from the bench, he strolled down the hill, a massive stone building looming before him.  According to his map, this was the National Museum and his starting point.  This was the one part of being on missions that irked Ron, all the use of Muggle transportation that slowed him down.  Having never been to the city before, he had to rely on the public transportation system and instructions from the Ministry in order to get to his destination.  Returning home was usually a breeze, but it was the getting there that frustrated him.

 

He glanced at his instructions as he traversed forty or fifty steps down into the halls of the Museum’s underground, home of the subway’s center hub.  At least at night, it wasn’t all that crowded, but he still had to be careful of using his wand and only translated when he had to.  Finding the C Line he stepped onto the next train and rode it to the Nadrazi Holesovice station.  Then, through the station and back up the stairs, he stepped out into the night air and waited for a tram.

 

It was the first time in hours he had a moment to just sit and think.  Despite all his subterfuge at the mayor’s home and the site investigation, he had, in fact, heard everything being said.  Being in official Auror mode focused him in a way that rarely allowed emotions to interrupt the flow of action.  Now, however, sitting in this foreign subway, alone and having digested the previous information, Ron was struck with such a horrible ache.

 

An ache that was all for her.  

 

Hermione had indeed suffered a malicious attack.  The hole in Karoly’s robes proved it.  Ron’s thoughts swirled with the re-enactment and visions of Hermione’s sickly face, her thin body draped in his arms as he rushed her to the hospital days before.  Her mumbled and incoherent ramblings in the night as he watched over her, only to go home to catch a quick shower and return to find out John the git had taken her home.  Then, the shivering, dull eyes that had stared at him in horror when he pointed his wand at John, her…Ron paused, unwilling to even think the word boyfriend.

 

He knew this mission was important, otherwise Kingsley wouldn’t have sent him, and he recognized the possibility that there could be a connection to Hermione’s condition.  But, even with that knowledge, his stomach knotted with traitorous guilt at having left her at the hospital with that pest.

 

“Ginny’s looking after her,” he mumbled, trying to convince himself and refocus on his surroundings.  The soft shuffle of nearby footsteps drew his attention.  He hoped, somewhat furtively, it was Robert.  Alas, only an elderly woman hobbled toward the stop and the sounds of the arriving tram.

 

Ron checked the numbers, but it wasn’t the number twelve and he sat back again to await the next one, observing the elderly woman climb aboard and leave him alone once again.  His thoughts returned to Hermione almost automatically.

 

Finally, as if saying it out loud would make it clearer, Ron began a quiet conversation with his heart.  “What are you going to do, Ron?”  He rubbed his head.  “You don’t have what you used to have with her.”

 

Gone were the early days when adolescent feelings came masked in a steady stream of insults and bickering.  Gone were the teen years, with the shy smiles and awkward glances, the moments when neither one of them knew what to say and so many hours went by in silence.  Then the break-through, their first kiss, first touch.  His eyes closed as the hairs on his neck rose at the memory.  “No…you gave up that right.  She’s moved on.  How can you expect to convince her that the guy she’s living with is a jerk, a liar and who knows what else?  If you had just gone along in the first place, she wouldn’t have had any need for this git.  What an arsehole.  I’ve put her through years of this and she has every right to just cut me out completely.” He grunted in frustration.  “If I could, I’d…”

 

Flexing his fingers out of the angry fist, he stopped his own thought, realizing the seriousness of the consequences.  “But, really, she doesn’t deserve to be with him, not when she’s this sick.  There has to be a way to cure her, _has_ to be.  The wizarding world just can’t _be_ without a Hermione Granger in it.  She needs to be with her family and her friends, the people who…” he paused, swallowing “…love her.”

 

He got up and slowly paced the tiny strip of concrete median beside the tram lines, swallowing down a heart full of comprehension.  “You love her.  No, you’re _in_ love with her, Ron.  Face it.  You have been for years now.  Maybe you’re not everything to her, but she’s all you’ve got left to believe in.  Even if she isn’t in love with you, how can you keep seeing Diane, how can you even contemplate a _casual_ relationship with her when all you dream of is Hermione?”  Reacting to the stress and intense longing of the moment, Ron found his hands folding automatically together, his head lifted toward the stars as if speaking to her in some transmitted prayer.  “Hermione, I know it’s been hard and it’s been a long time coming, but don’t give up on me.  Please.”  He clamped his hands behind his head and pulled it down between his knees.  “You are such an arsehole!”

 

Perhaps the night air of this historic city would whisper a reply.  Like a wolf baying at the moon, he jerked his head skyward and cried at the silent blackness.  “Fuck!”

 

*** 

  _Even on a day like this when you’re crawling on the floor_

_Reaching for the phone, to ring anyone who knows you anymore_

_Staring at the same four walls, have you tried to help yourself?_

_The rings around your eyes they don’t hide that you need to get some rest_

_Take time to catch your breath and chose your moment, don’t slide._

_-Dido_   

The lights were far too bright and Hermione suddenly felt impelled to turned them off.  It would be much cooler with the lights off.  The moonlight was much more soothing.  She tripped and reached out for the doorknob to steady herself, finally remembering that she had wanted to see this door for some reason.  

 

Was this her bedroom?  That damned light was far too bright and she continued to blink, eyes now watering with the strain to clear themselves.

 

Her slippery palm sidled over the knob, but it didn’t turn.  With a quick burst of energy, she tugged on it with both hands, but to no avail.  Her addled brain burned with visions of home, of comfort, where she wanted to be, like this doorknob might lead her to safety. 

 

  _Maybe_ _Ron_ _is asleep and locked his bedroom door?  When did I get to the Burrow?  No, this is wrong._

 

Somewhere between the sore arm, blurry vision and fire burning in her head, a few brain cells were still working, informing her of the ridiculous thoughts she had of pounding on the door and waking John or Ron or whomever lie on the opposite side of this door at three in the morning and demanding someone take the bars off her windows and turn on a fan.

 

  _What are you thinking?  Focus Hermione._

 

As if finally getting some thick layer of goo out of her left eye, one side of her vision cleared and it happened that the first thing that became crystal was the telephone.  A small board hung on the wall just behind it, a place to scribble down messages when needed.  In Hermione’s neat penmanship, a reminder written weeks ago:

 

_Mom and Dad coming home Friday the 9th._

 

With her one good eye guiding her, she dragged her feet across the room, bumping into the side chair and tripping over the corner of the rug so that she fell on her hip just inches from the phone’s stand.  She read the message again and tried to recall the date.  The past week had been a total blur, a passage of time without any meaning, her days unimportant, the only things of significance being the never ending healer appointments.

 

She shuffled through the papers on the table, pushing the phone directory to the floor and fumbling for the small spiral bound calendar that usually sat by the phone.

 

“Why is it so bloody hot in here?” she called out, much louder this time, totally oblivious to anyone or anything in or near the flat.  A trickle of sweat ran down her spine and her hair weighed heavy with moisture as she finally laid her hands on the spiral binding.

 

Holding it closely, she did her best to concentrate, finding she was at least on June.  She found the 9th, it was a Friday.  The previous Wednesday had Staff Meeting written on it and based on that Hermione concluded that her parents were actually coming home the very next day.

 

Such relief poured over her with that thought.  Mum and Dad, she could go home.  They could take care of her.  John’s harsh words from days before jumped back to the forefront of her memory - his accusations about her parents no longer wanting her, their impending disappointment.  She stared at the phone, listless, more perspiration dripping down her cheek.

 

Finally, with a slow gulp, she lifted the receiver and tried to open her eyes as wide as possible, to organize the muddled, hazy thoughts, her fingers pushing the buttons.  It rang.  She knew they were still gone, but the machine would turn on.  It always did.

 

A soothing, familiar voice spoke in her ear.  ‘You’ve reached the Grangers, please leave a message and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible.  If you are having a dental emergency, please call our office number.’

 

Hermione snorted out a brief and very weak laugh.  _At least my teeth don’t hurt_.

 

It beeped.  Something instinctive told her to speak, but nothing too coherent came out.  “Mum…Mummy…I-I don’t feel so good and…Mummy, could I come and stay with you for a whi…”  She drifted and paused, her mind loosing focus as the inferno raged, her words beginning to babble as the molten heat engulfed her nervous system, her message sounding more and more random, the images in her mind loosing their connections as she sunk lower to the floor.  “It’s so h-hot.  John…bars on the window and Ron’s living with a paper doll.  I wanna come home.”

 

She lifted her sore arm and felt for the cradle, missing several times and finally dropping the receiver weakly, the back of her hand dragging over the carpet as she crawled toward the sofa in exhaustion.  It seemed that all her body’s moisture had evaporated as she tried to lick her now cracked lips.  Water.  A cool pond of water would be lovely.  Like the one at the Burrow, in the summer, with Ron in his swim trunks…so…so…hot…

 

*** 

  _Even at a time like this when the morning seems so far_

_Think that pain belongs to you, but it’s happened to us all_

_You brought this on yourself and its high time you left it there_

_Lie here and rest your head and dream of something else instead._

_-Dido_   

 “I really don’t care to translate that one, mate.”

 

“’bout time you fucking showed up, Williams.  Decide to take the scenic tour?” Ron countered teasingly, secretly thrilled to see his sometime partner who had finally arrived.  Luckily, it was too dark for Williams to note his impassioned and embarrassed expression and Ron tried to swallow it back down to his already ulcerated stomach.

 

“Oh, yeah, this is my idea of fun.  Damn Portkey didn’t go off on time, then we do an emergency reschedule, but Mabel Dipshit down in processing put in the wrong coordinates and I ended up on the fucking top of Saint Wenceslas’s head and not only that, nearly impaled by his crown in the process.  So, that was fun.”  Ron could nearly picture Williams perched like a pigeon on the head of the large statue that marked Wenceslas Square in front of the museum.  

 

“Mabel Dipshit, huh?”  Ron raised an eyebrow, something about the phrase irritated him.  He wasn’t sure why, since he held no love for Mabel in processing.  For whatever reason, his nerves were on edge tonight.  Well, that wasn’t exactly right.  He knew the reason.

 

“Well, whatever her name is.” Robert gestured, then noting the annoyed expression on Ron’s face.  “Jesus Christ, don’t tell me she’s your cousin or something?  I’ll be the new record holder for placing foot in mouth.”

 

“Oh, no, I’ve held _that_ record for years.  Just ask ‘Mione.”  Ron’s head dropped at the mention of her.

 

Robert appeared uncomfortable and finally shoved his hands into his pockets, swaying to pass the time in the cool night air.  “Look, I’m really sorry about your friend being sick and all.”

 

“Me, too.”

 

“So…um…you two dated or anything?”

 

“Hmm?” Ron asked, obviously having not paid attention to the question.

 

“Have you and Hermione dated?”

 

“Oh, um…we didn’t really date, not like formally, but we were together for a while.”

 

“What happened?”

 

Looking miserable, Ron stood up as if the motion might put him in a better mood.  “Long story.  Let’s just say that we went our separate ways.”

 

Robert nodded and turned to the noise of the approaching tram.  “I think this is our tram.”

 

The number twelve rounded the corner and the two men hopped aboard, slipping their Ministry provided tickets into the reader.  The ride took them through a somewhat less touristy part of town.  They didn’t speak much.  Good thing, for Ron’s conversation continued, internal now, but still gnawing away at his resolve.

 

A smack on the back of the head snapped him to.  “Wake up, we’re here.”  Robert nudged, standing to move toward the tram doors.

 

Ron followed, jerking his head quickly to erase the self absorbing thoughts that occupied his time.  Ginny’s words replayed in his head.  ‘You’ve been a little distracted lately with Hermione.  I need you to focus on this.’  Taking advantage of the tram’s lights, he glanced at his map, noting the direction they needed to go.

 

The tram stopped with Ron and Robert the only two passengers.  It was now very late and they walked as quickly as they could until the tram left their field of vision.  Lighting their wands, they moved a lot faster down the winding road, moving more and more toward a country setting until finally finding the first of two labs on Ginny’s list.  

 

One look proved that this was no rinky-dink facility.  This had the looks of a maximum security prison, complete with barbed wire and flood lights.  Ron’s shoulders sunk.  The suggestion of broaching this building’s security was strategically mind-boggling, but beyond that, he doubted it would reap any rewards for Ginny’s research.

 

“Bugger,” Robert blurted in a whisper.  “There is no way we are going to search a place like this and come up with anything remotely valuable.”

 

“I’m having similar thoughts, but then again, Ginny wouldn’t have put it down if she didn’t want it searched.”

 

“Well, perhaps your sister is a better actress than an investigator.”

 

“She’s pretty damn good at everything she does and it’s probably not a good idea for you to criticize her in front of her big brother.”

 

“I didn’t mean it that way and you know it.  It’s obvious she’s intelligent and more than a little scary…I mean how does Harry do it?  He must have balls of steel to tolerate her antics.”

 

“He loves her!  Another reason not to criticize her, you git.  You don’t want to have Harry riding your tail.  Hell, he’s worse then me!  He can make your life miserable.  I’ve seen it and it’s not a pretty sight.”

 

“I’m not _criticizing_ her.  Geez Weasley, you’re wound tighter than a three-headed bitch in heat!”

 

“I’ve met one of those,” Ron mentioned as he continued to wind around the shrubs that formed the natural perimeter of the facility.

 

“It’s the Granger girl, isn’t it?” he asked, following Ron through the brush.

 

Ron didn’t answer.

 

“Look, I know it’s not my business…”

 

“You’re right, it’s not.  Now come on, I think I see a way in.” 

 

Three hours, two Disillusionment Charms, about sixty five Alohomoras and one melted gate enclosure later, the two Aurors had searched the lab to their satisfaction.  As suspected, this looked like a highly secured operation, nothing that would give any indication of a recent evacuation or even unsafe handling of a single sample.  It was immaculate.  After meeting back out near the road, the two men checked their map and decided to take advantage of the waning moonlight to try and locate the second building on their list.  Two tram rides later they stepped out onto a broken sidewalk, shifted so severely that it could have been the epicenter of a powerful, but very localized earthquake.

 

In general, the neighborhood reeked of poverty and bad intensions.  Any normal, law abiding citizen wouldn’t be caught dead there.  The beginnings of daylight teased the horizon, a soft glow outshining the now depressed moonlight.

 

Approaching the alleyway described on their map, Ron and Robert alerted immediately at the broken lock and open door on the left.  Looking closer, Ron determined the lock had been magically cut.  Both raised their wands at the ready, each taking position near the door.  Throwing it open, Ron dropped and rolled, Robert turning to cover his back.

 

Before covering even six feet of space, Ron’s rolling form came to an immediately halt.  He grunted as the air thundered out of his lungs.  The space was clear, indicating that some invisible force had stopped his momentum.  Ron’s eye flashed to Robert’s shadow who, poised with feet apart, had his wand trained on the space just above him.

 

“Stand down, Williams.”

 

It was Harry’s unmistakable voice and recognizable command.  Ron jerked his head in the direction of the voice and finally saw a wand tip appear from around a wall, holding the shield, Harry following cautiously.

 

Robert pointed his wand up.  “Christ Harry!  You nearly got blasted.”

 

“Oh, I don’t think so.”  Harry grinned, dropping his shield.  “Despite your talents and skills with a wand, I saw you coming long before you actually became a threat.”

 

“Oh, well, that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

 

Ron stood quickly, chuckling mildly at Harry before turning back to his other partner.  “Don’t worry Robert.  It’s not that you aren’t good at your job, it’s just that he’s Harry Fucking Potter.  What do you expect?”

 

“Such fowl language, Auror Weasley.”  Harry smirked.  “Do you eat with that mouth?”

 

“Shut it, Potter.”  Ron countered, dusting a thick layer of dirt off his backside.  “So, have you already checked this place out?”

 

“No.  Just got here about ten minutes before you.  I wasn’t going to search it without back up.”

 

“Brilliant.”

 

“Well, I am Harry Fucking Potter.”

 

Ron squinted with his quick reply.  “Arsehole.”

 

“Git.”  Harry grinned.

 

“Would you two like a moment alone to snog or something?”  Robert asked, his arms folded over his chest as he observed the banter going on back and forth.

 

“I’d rather get this done and go home to do my snogging, thank you.”  Harry gestured for the two others to follow and he stepped back around the wall where he had been hidden earlier.

 

“Too much information, Potter.”  Ron complained, following with wand held high.

 

The three became abruptly mute, going into search mode, their heads back in the game.  Dawn was just around the corner and a faint glow of daylight was creeping through the few windows that lined the tops of the walls.  All three men ran their hands over the nearby walls, checking for light switches, but found none.

 

Unlike the previous facility, this building lacked any kind of security, sans lock on the main door.  The floors were old, tiled and slippery.  Ron was afraid to look at what he might be stepping in.  Harry led, Ron in the center and Robert covering their rear as they covered about twenty five feet of narrow hall.  At the end, a large metal door sat rusting on its hinges.

 

With practiced ease, Harry called out a silencing spell and then tried the door.  It opened into a larger space, but without windows.  All three men entered, their backs against the walls on either side of the doorway, Robert closing the door before Harry dropped the spell.  Should anyone else come through this door, they would hear the creak.

 

Lighting their wands on a very low setting, Harry used hand signals to order everyone forward.  To the left, two more doors – Robert went to investigate.  Ahead and to the right, another hall which Harry proceeded to check out.  The main part of the room held several large four foot high tables and a couple of stools, one of which was lying on its side.  Ron inched forward, carefully examining the table tops.  It became clear within seconds that this place had been abandoned.  A half-filled tea cup rested on the counter and Ron reached out, testing the temperature of the porcelain.  It was warm.

 

“Harry!”  Ron shouted in a whisper, motioning for Harry to join him.

 

Harry stepped to his side, shining his wand over the table and looking at Ron for an update.  “We should get our protective gear on now, Ron.  This is a mess.”

 

“Cup is warm.”  Ron knew he didn’t need to say more.  Knowing that the lab’s occupant had been here recently, meant he could still be around or, at the very least, items could still be unsettled.

 

Robert backed up from the door on the left, his hand over his mouth and turned toward his partners.  “Holy fuck.”

 

“What is it?” Ron asked, still whispering.

 

“You don’t want to know.”  Robert quickly reached into his pocket and drew out the mask and gloves, enlarging them and slipping them on with haste.  “Looks like blood all over the place in there.”

 

“What do you mean?  Like someone was hurt?”  Harry’s expression turned harder.

 

“No, like vials and samples, but some are spilled.  Looks like some things are growing.  It reeks.”  Robert explained, adjusting his mask and slipping on a jumpsuit that magically secured around his waist.  Ron and Harry followed suit, putting on their gear as well.

 

Harry, taking charge, whispered instructions.  “Alright, well, pull out Ginny’s list and start comparing.  If you find anything that matches, use proper protocol to collect it and let’s get the hell out of here as soon as we can.”

 

The three of them started examining the room, going table to table, counter to counter, reading labels and documenting everything they saw.  Incubators, refrigerators, vials, microscopes, chemicals and all in various states of exposure.  Some items were broken, some spilt, others leaking slowing from their containers.  The room screamed ‘unsanitary’ even though it appeared that the counters had been cleaned at some point in the recent past.

 

Ron moved to the back of the room, another door leading into what appeared to be a small apartment, or perhaps just a room.  It held a cot with rumpled up blankets, a few boxes of biscuits and crackers, some canned goods and a few bottles of water.  He carefully picked up a pair of denims that were draped over a chair, finding some dirty socks underneath.  On the floor rested a pair of brown leather dress shoes.  They looked expensive.  Probably one of the only things in this building that held any worth, other than the medical equipment.

 

After searching the room and documenting everything, Ron felt satisfied and turned to leave.  He had only stepped out of the room a few steps when he heard something.  A rustling noise.

  _Oh, great, rats!_  

The sound seemed to be coming from inside the wall, but when Ron didn’t see anything, he turned and proceeded to walk back toward the main part of the lab.  Without warning, something or someone rushed past him, ramming into his shoulder from behind.  His wand flew forward, clattering to the floor as Ron lurched ahead, the lab table slamming into his stomach.  He grunted from the impact.  Trying to stop his forward motion, Ron braced his gloved hands in front of him, both sliding over the table top and crashing into a rack full of vials.

 

He ripped the mask away from his face.  “Stop in the name of the Ministry!” Ron yelled, hoping to alert his partners or, with major luck, put enough fear in whomever to cause a second of hesitation.  Luckily, the one stool that remained standing had created enough of an obstacle that the unknown man or creature tripped up and fell to the floor, another grunt sounding very human.

 

Ron spun around, following the movement and lunged forward.  “Harry!”  His hands and arms landed on something covered in fabric and he realized in a millisecond that it was a denim covered leg.  Unfortunately, its partner kicked out and hit Ron squarely in the cheek.  “Fuck!” Ron cried, battling with the man, trying to get a firmer grip and keep from getting kicked again, his fist punching against the man’s ankle.  But the leg slipped free and the figure scrambled to its feet.  

 

He could hear Harry and Robert running from the side hall and adjoining room, but by the time they stepped in, the man had disappeared out another door.  Ron groaned, rolling to his back, one hand wrapped around his ribcage, another cradling his cheek.

 

“Ron!”  Harry called out, running toward him.

 

“I’m fine, go after him!”  Ron insisted, attempting to find his wand on the floor.  Harry turned and bolted through the doorway, Robert having already flung open the now noisy metal door.

 

Ron struggled to get a deep breath, the pain slicing through him with each inhale as he lie curled on the floor.  The throbbing in his cheek seemed insignificant until a funny metallic taste built up in his mouth and Ron spit out a large spattering of blood.

 

Footsteps announced someone’s arrival.  “Ron!”  It was Robert.  “Hey, mate, are you alright?”  Robert shined his lit wand right in Ron’s face, his eyes bugging out, something Ron assumed wasn’t a good indicator of his present condition.  Robert made a sucking noise as he squinched up his face.  “Here you go.”  Robert waved his wand over the now purple cheekbone and the throbbing diminished significantly.

 

“Thanks,” Ron mumbled, still wincing as he tried to breath.  

 

“What?” Robert asked at the same moment Harry walked back in the door, pulling the mask back over Ron’s nose.

 

“I think I broke a rib.” Ron explained behind the mask and Robert waved his wand again, guiding it down Ron’s torso.  The pain reduced to a dull ache instead of the sharp stab it had been.

 

Suddenly a bright set of fluorescent overhead lights flickered on.  Ron squinted and began to look around for the source.  Harry was standing by the table, his hand reached underneath to a box mounted on the underside.  “Found the lights,” Harry said.

 

“Did you get him?” Ron asked.

 

“No, but I don’t think he’s magical.  I never heard anyone Apparate.  He had some other exit rigged up.  It took me a minute to figure out where it went and by then he was gone.  I checked the surrounding buildings, but I didn’t see him.  Did you get a look at him?”  Harry asked, crouching down next to Ron on the floor.

 

“No, just a pair of denims and some steel toed boots by the feel of it.”  Ron brushed a hand over his cheek again and then, without warning, sneezed very loudly into the mask.  “Ow!”  Ron clutched his side and stripped the mask away again, mashing it into pulp in his fist.  “Fuck, that hurts!”

 

“Don’t sneeze then, you git,” Robert said.  “I can only heal it so far.  You probably just cracked it again.”

 

Harry and Robert both put arms under Ron and helped him up, his arm still wrapped around his middle.  Ron finally got a good look at the counter that had jabbed into his stomach and noted the mess of broken and spilled liquids.  Glancing at his glove-covered hands, he noticed several layers of what he thought was blood and something white and powdery.  “Oh, hell…” Ron cursed.

 

“What?”  Harry asked, his brow scrunched up in concern.

 

Ron held his arm out and there, through a slash in the vinyl glove, the small cut from earlier now coated in white powder and a small splatter of something else Ron’s couldn’t identify.  Harry immediately waved his wand, “Scourgify, Scourgify, Scourgify!” cleaning it to the point that Ron nearly complained from the intensity.

 

*** 

 

Armed with a renewed sense of purpose, Ginny flew out of bed in the morning, showered and dressed quickly before arriving at the Burrow at an ungodly hour.  She knew that to catch her father before work, she’d have to arrive early.  He was just trudging down the steps when she arrived.

 

“Ginny!  What are you doing here?” Arthur asked, clearly surprised to find her standing in the parlor at five in the morning.

 

“Good morning, Dad.  Sorry to scare you.”

 

He waved a hand as if to pardon her interruption.  “No worries sweetheart.  So, what gets you up with the dragon beetles?”  He motioned toward the kitchen, the tea kettle already heating.  “It’s a rare thing for anyone to beat your mother to breakfast.”

 

The large clock in the kitchen denoted every family member and their various states of being, Ginny and Arthur pointing on ‘Home’, Molly, Bill, George and Percy all on ‘Bed’, Charlie on ‘Work’ and Ronald on ‘Mortal Peril’.  Arthur squinted for a moment, looking as if unsure whether to believe his eyes.

 

“Is Ron out on a mission?”

 

“Yes.  That’s sort of why I’m here.”  Ginny explained, placing a supportive hand on Arthur’s arm.

 

“So, can you explain why my son is in mortal peril?” His tone quickly escalated from composed concern to panicked conundrum.

 

“He’s on a mission.  They’re always dangerous.  It’s part of the job, you know that.”

 

“Maybe…but it doesn’t make it any easier to tolerate.  He’s still my little boy.”

 

“I know, Dad, and I’m still your little…”

 

“Gingersnap” they said together.  Arthur smiled warmly, taping Ginny on the tip of the nose.  “So, what do you need?”

 

“A sample of your blood.”

 

Arthur’s eyes popped for a second.  “Well, that’s different.”  He picked up the kettle and began to pour.  Shuffling noises from the steps meant that Molly was making her way down.

 

“I need a sample from everyone in the family.”

 

“Is this about that virus going around?”

 

“Yes and also to try and help Hermione.  Sort of a two for one deal.”

 

Arthur sat at the table, rolling up his sleeve as Molly walked in the kitchen door.  “Yes, I’ve heard,” he continued, “Poor Hermione.  If there’s anything I can do to help.  Well, go ahead.”

 

“Go ahead with what?” Molly asked, reaching for her apron.

 

“I need to take blood samples of everyone in the family.”  Ginny pulled out the small vial from her pocket, waving her wand over Arthur’s arm and drawing it back, similar to extracting a memory, except extracting a thin ribbon of blood that folded itself into the vial.  Another quick wave and the tiny mark on Arthur’s arm healed itself over.  Ginny capped the vial, labeled it and put it back in her pocket, moving toward Molly.

 

Ginny wasn’t sure what the grimace on Molly’s face was meant to represent, but like her husband, she offered up her arm and Ginny repeated the process.

 

“So, is someone now going to tell me why my son is in mortal peril?”  Molly hitched out her hip, the grimace turned swiftly to deep concern.

 

“He’s on a mission.”  Ginny and Arthur answered in unison.

 

Molly shook her head and nearly ripped a towel off the rack, mumbling as she went about her morning duties.  “That job is just too dangerous.  Doesn’t he realize what this does to his mother?”

 

Arthur arched a brow and glanced at Ginny, both understanding Molly’s indiscriminant ravings.  She did it every time Ron’s clock handle sat on the dangerous indicator.  And it was often.  Ron would soon get an earful from his mother about the virtues of a desk job at the Ministry or how a teaching career could be so fulfilling.

 

“Well, I’m off.”  Arthur slammed back the last of his tea, grabbed his cloak and kissed Molly on the cheek.  “Have a good day, love and don’t worry too much about Ronald.  You know that Harry’s with him.”

 

“Even more reason to worry.”  Molly cut in.  “Those two…couldn’t they have picked a less dangerous vocation?”  

 

Arthur raised his eyes in a sort of escapist gesture, kissed Ginny on the head and stepped into the Floo.  In a flash of green, he was gone.

 

Ginny steered her Mom to the kitchen table and urged her to sit, the morning sunlight starting to filter through the windows.  “Mum, it isn’t any more dangerous than Bill’s or Charlie’s or…mine for that fact.”

 

“Yours?  You work in a hospital.  How is that dangerous?”

 

Ginny started to respond, to tell her about all the infectious agents she worked with everyday, but decided it best to change course.  “It’s _not_ , just like Harry and Ron.  They’ve rounded up all the Death Eaters.  Azkaban is full to the brim with ‘em.  They’re more like keepers of the peace now and they’re very good at it.”

 

“Oh, I know they are.  I’m very proud of both my boys.  And I’m very worried about Hermione.  Is she still at the hospital?”

 

“Should be.  They said they were keeping her overnight for observation.”

 

“I think I’ll go visit this morning.  We really should get her and Harry added to this clock so I can keep better tabs on them.  I think I’ll owl Mr. Putnam today and ask about getting that enhancement done.”

 

“You’d do that?  I mean, it’s a family clock.  You’d actually add Harry and Hermione to it?”

 

“Of course.  I suspect both of them will be related to us for years to come.”  She patted Ginny on the hand which drew forth a blush and awkward smile.  “Don’t be so coy, Ginevra.  You mum hasn’t been hiding under a rock.”

 

“Mum.”  Ginny felt an uncomfortable conversation coming on and tried to desperately conceive an escape plan.

 

“What?  You think I don’t notice the two of you?”  Ginny rolled her eyes.  “I just hope that he isn’t trying anything…inappropriate.  You know how young men can get aroused so easily…”

 

“Mum!”  Ginny’s face moved from pink to red to purple just as George appeared in the Floo.

 

“Who’s aroused?  What did I miss?  Sounds interesting.”  George winked, nudging Ginny as he passed and peaked at the table for his usual breakfast which, at the moment, appeared missing.

 

Molly grunted at her son’s inappropriate comments and turned to make toast now that a hungry child had shown up.  Ginny grabbed George by the arm and swung him around, pushing him into the chair.

 

“Sit.”  Ginny instructed, holding George’s arm toward her and twisting it palm up.

 

“Hey!” George complained when she began pulling the ripple of blood from his arm.

 

“Oh, don’t be a sissy, it’s just a little blood sample.”  George hissed, jerking slightly.

 

“You know I don’t like giving blood.  It makes me all woozy.”  George complained, his lower lip jutting out to pout.

 

“Be a good boy and I’ll get you some pumpkin juice.”  Ginny teased with the tone of a kindergarten teacher, healing him over and capping the vial.

 

“So, why am I giving blood and, more importantly, who exactly is aroused?”  George smiled at the last, back on track with his usual wit.

 

“You are giving me a sample so I can test it to see if you have antibodies built up for this new virus.  If not, then I’ll know that you’re at risk.  I’m also testing your blood and magical type to see if you might be a match for Hermione.”

 

“Hermione?  Why?”  George asked, rubbing his arm gingerly at the spot of the extraction.

 

“You do know what’s happened to her, don’t you?”

 

Molly put a plate of toast and bacon on the table, shaking her head at the discussion with mutters of ‘poor dear’ as she turned back to the stove.

 

“Kind of.  I heard she’s a squib now.”  He never saw it coming and cringed as Molly’s open hand whacked across the back of his head.  “Ow!  Mum!”

 

“That was a poor choice of words, George Weasley and certainly not a kind thing to say about our Hermione.”  Molly seemed genuinely upset, her eyes glassing over a bit as she reprimanded her son.  George noticed.  Ever since Fred’s death, George had been much more attentive and reactionary to his mother’s moods.

 

“Awww, I’m sorry, Mum.  I didn’t mean it to sound that way.”  He jumped up from the table and rubbed her back consolingly as she stirred the eggs on the stove.  “Hermione’s a great girl and all.  I mean, I’m really sorry she’s sick, but there isn’t much we can do, is there?”

 

“If your blood and magical type matches Hermione, then yes, there’s a lot you can do.”  Ginny kissed her mum on the cheek.

 

“Really?”  George smiled and took the bowl of eggs from his mother, carrying them over to the table.  “That would be cool.  She’d have to be eternally grateful.  I could have fun with that!  So, when can I find out?”

 

“Soon.”  Ginny put the vial in her pocket and turned toward the fireplace.  “I have to go track down Percy now.”  Stepping into the fireplace, she tossed the handful of Floo powder, calling out the Ministry.

 

“Hey, wait!  You didn’t tell me who was aroused!  Ow!  Mum!”

 

*** 

 

Robert and Harry finished up while Ron rested on the stool which had now been moved to the far side of the lab, away from anything that might remotely come into contact with Ron’s skin or nose.  With two more healing spells, Ron was finally able to tolerate the Portkey back to England.  After a stop in St. Mungo’s, Ron was released by about three o’clock that afternoon, his rib and cheek mended, although a slight bruise still remained on the side of his face.  Ginny had rushed in, insisting he go through decontamination and another set of blood tests.  The look she gave him left him wallowing in guilt at having not been more careful.  They both asked about Hermione and Ginny told them she had been released and John took her back to the flat.

 

He really wanted to check on Hermione himself, perhaps rough up John a little just for good measure and then go home, but Kingsley insisted on a report that day, saying it was far too sensitive and that they were actively trying to track down the man in the lab and needed all of the details immediately.  So, Ron returned to his desk, beyond tired and started to fill out his report.

 

Around four o’clock, Ron yawned, rubbing his face as he tried to retrieve his memories, play them back and record everything in the report.  A few Aurors had gone home for the day, leaving only Ron, Harry, Robert and three others.  His thoughts were becoming less focused, instead dwelling on Hermione and how much he longed for a hot shower and full stomach.

 

The room rang with silence, only the scratchings of his quill and the faint rustle of parchment from Robert’s desk keeping him remotely awake.  He heard footsteps behind him and assumed a couple of other Aurors were packing it in for the day.  Struggling to focus on his report, he attempted to ignore the voices behind him.

 

“Um…”  A hand knocked on a door.  “Lieutenant Potter?”

 

“Yes.”  Harry’s voice responded behind him.

 

“You need to come out here,” the man replied.

 

The tone of the voice urged Ron to look.  It sounded like Private Whitcomb and he seemed shook up.  

 

As his head turned, Ron first noticed Harry stepping out of his office and then, right there in the middle of the hallway, Hermione.  It only took a half a second for Ron’s brain to register the fact that not only was Hermione barely dressed, in a thin white cotton night shirt, but she was soaking wet, her breasts pressing clearly through the moist gown.  A faint triangular shadow between her legs also showed through the thin fabric, her long, wavy hair sticking to her gaunt face, dark circles around her red-rimmed eyes.  Her thin arms hung dead at her sides and she was barefoot.

 

“’Mione!”  Ron bolted from his chair.  “For Merlin’s sake!”

 

“What the hell!” Harry cried, running out to join him.

 

Whitcomb looked flustered, trying to explain to Ron, not sure what to do.  “She just walked up and mumbled something about needing to see you.  Should I get a healer?”

 

Ron was one step toward her when he paused, turned and ripped his cloak from the back of his chair.  Rushing toward her, he swung the cloak open and wrapped it around her.  The minute his arm found her back, she wobbled, collapsing into Ron’s side.  A slight ache from his previously broken rib rose up in protest, but he ignored it, slipping his arm in the crook of her legs.  “Hermione, what are you doing here?”  Harry waved him forward.

 

“Bring her in my office.”  Harry led the way and soon Ron sat on the sofa, Hermione still in his lap.  She managed a weak smile and raised her hand to his cheek, holding him lovingly, her voice dreamlike, dazed.

 

“I-I had a bad dream.  You were hurt.”  Her eyes shined with affection, even though Ron’s were wracked with concern.  “I had to make sure you were alright.”

 

“I’m fine, Hermione.  You should be in the hospital.”  He picked some hair away from her moist cheek.  “Why are you all wet?”  He pressed his palm to her forehead, then turned it repeating the process with the back of his hand.  “You have a fever.”

 

“I’ll get help.”  Whitcomb said, looking panicked in the doorway and soon he was gone.  

 

Ron turned his sickened expression up to a very worried Harry.  Both men just stared at one another for a few seconds, knowing there was nothing they could do for her and yet struggling to think of something, anything that might help.  “This is getting ridiculous.”

 

Harry flicked his wand, his stag bursting forth and galloping away.  “Let me get Ginny.”

 

Ron continued to hold her in his lap, his hand stroking the sticky hair off of her face and adjusting the robe to cover her bared legs and feet that curled up against him as she finally dozed off.  “I’m not taking her back to that flat again.  Someone needs to watch her and what’s his name obviously isn’t doing the job.  Do you think Kingsley would give me a leave of absence?”

 

“I don’t know, Ron.  Can’t she stay with your folks?”

 

“I could ask.  Mum would probably smother her with attention.”

 

“No.”  Her voice was weak, but resolute, waking from her brief nap.  “I’d rather be in my own place.  It has my things, my food, my books.”

 

“You need someone to look after you.”  Just as quickly as Ron had noted the fever, she shivered and he realized she was once again getting cold.  “Hermione, do you realize where you are?”

 

Hermione looked around, her eyes growing wide for the first time since she arrived.  Ron could sense that she was finally comprehending the location.  “Oh!”

 

She squirmed, trying to climb out of Ron’s lap, her knee landing between his legs, then her hand on his chest as she tried to stand, her face flushing drastically with embarrassment.  “I’m…oh, god…I’m so sorry...here…”  She started to pull the cloak off and return it, but suddenly looked at herself and realized the fact that she had just exposed herself to not only Harry and Ron, but quite a few others.

 

Ron jumped back up.  “No!  Keep it on.”  

 

“Oh…OH!”  She clutched the cloak around herself, her teeth now starting to chatter.  “I need to get home.”  Her eyes watered up.  “I’m so sorry.  I shouldn’t have come here.”

 

She turned and wobbled out the door, her bare feet slapping against the tiled floor.  Two other Aurors seemed to be amused and chuckled as she ran past their desks, unaware of the seriousness of her visit.  

 

“You think something’s funny?” Ron bellowed, shoving one of the Aurors back a step.

 

Ron bolted after her, walking quickly as she jogged down the hallway, one hand holding the robe, the other grabbing the wall for support.

 

“Hermione!  Stop!”

 

She didn’t.  Her path zig-zagged down the hall, her shoulder occasionally bumping the wall.  The lift doors were just ahead and he began to jog, trying to catch her before anyone else could get a good look.  She reached the lift and hit the button to call, but Ron grabbed her and spun her around, pressing her protectively into the wall next to the lift.  “Hermione, stop.  Please.  You can’t go down there like this.  Look at yourself!”

 

The lift opened, the operator poking his head out and blinking wide-eyed at the scene on the wall.  Ron looked him squarely in the eye, positioning himself to shield her from the operator’s view.  “Shut the lift and go back downstairs.”

 

The lift operator took one look and mistook the encounter for something fare more heinous, his chest puffing out courageously.  “Miss?  Do you need the lift?”  At this point, three other occupants were jutting their heads out, curious at what was happening in the hall.  Ron released Hermione, pushing her behind him and stepped into the lift doorway.  “Put your heads back in the lift or fucking loose them!”

 

They all withdrew in a collective jerk, the gate sliding across as the lift took off again.

 

When Ron turned back, Hermione had sunk to the floor, holding her hands over her face as her shoulders shook.  Ron crouched down in front of her, just then hearing approaching footsteps.  He knew it was probably Harry and he raised his hand to halt any more movement.

 

“Please take me home,” she sobbed.  Rob tried to see her face, to pull her hands away, but she shook her head vehemently.  

 

“Hermione, you’re sick.  You need someone to help care for you.  You should be in the hospital or with your parents or Harry or…” He swallowed roughly  “…me.”

 

“I’m not sick!  Don’t you get it?”  She pulled her hands away, her face streaked with tears.  “I’m a Squib!  A freak!” she screamed.  “I don’t belong with any of you!”  She tried to crawl away, but Ron followed, scooting across the floor with her.  “I’m not part of this world anymore.  Just leave me!”  She sobbed and curled into a ball on the floor.  Ron followed, wrapping his arms tenderly around her.

 

“We aren’t going to leave you, Hermione.  We’re your friends!”  He held her close, making shushing noises as she sobbed.

 

The lift rang again, the doors rattling open.  This time Ron could hear Harry approach.  “Nothing to see here, this floor is temporarily closed.”

 

“Not for me it isn’t.”  Ginny pushed through from the back of the lift, Harry allowing her to pass, but keeping himself in front of the crowd.

 

“Hey, how come she can get off on this floor?” an annoyed sounding woman protested, but Harry’s response was quick.  “Auror business, ma’am.  If I let you pass, I’ll have to Obliviate your memory.”

 

Ron wasn’t sure what happened, but could only guess as the lift gates closed once again.  Ginny knelt down beside him, gently trying to pry Ron’s hands free.  “Hermione, it’s Ginny.  What’s wrong, sweetie?”

 

Unwillingly, Ron releasing her and rolled away.   Sitting on the floor with his head resting in his palm, he watched his sister try to coax Hermione out of her cocoon.  Harry remained in front of the lift, his breathing heavy while observing the angst-filled scene.  Robert stood at the end of the hallway, three other Aurors behind him, including Whitcomb who appeared genuinely disturbed.  

 

Ron noticed the crowd, his nerves raw.  “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

 

This must have snapped Harry from his thoughts, for he walked over to Robert and spoke to the group quietly.  Within a few seconds, they all retreated down the hall and Harry returned to his spot by the lifts.

 

Ginny whispered in Hermione’s ear, stroking her hair lovingly.  Hermione seemed to whisper back, but it was mixed with shivers and sobs and hiccups and sniffs.  Finally, Hermione sat up, her back to Ron as she continued to speak quietly to Ginny and wipe the back of her hand over her face.  Ron struggled to remain still, the urge to go to her, to pull her back into his arms – it was overwhelming his common sense.  

 

She started slipping an arm out of Ron’s cloak, but Ginny stopped her.  “Hermione, you can’t go home like this.”

 

“Keep it.”  Ron said.  Hermione stopped, one arm out.  “You can keep it.  I have others.”

 

Her back still to him, she replied softly.  “Thank you.”  Ginny pulled the cloak around her  and helped her up.

 

Hermione still refused to turn around, shaking her head at Ginny’s suggestions.  Ginny sighed, pursing her lips with a resigned expression as she approached her brother.  He got to his feet immediately.  “She wants to go home.”

 

Ron shook his head, clearly upset at this idea, but Ginny continued.  “I know, I know.  I don’t agree either.  Ron, she’s embarrassed.  She doesn’t want you to see her like this and she just doesn’t feel like she belongs with us anymore.  I know it’s ridiculous, but she can’t sit here all night.”

 

His response was stern and absolute.  “She needs someone with her.  Obviously, that arsehole living with her is worthless.”

 

Ginny didn’t know how to answer.  She shrugged, looked to Harry and back again.  “I’ll stay with her tonight.  I don’t have to be in to work until six tomorrow morning.”

 

“I don’t want you staying at Hermione’s flat if git boy is there.  Maybe I should come along.”

 

"That may not be wise, Ron," countered Harry.  "You don't want to end up in another fight.  You're barely healed from today's activities."

 

“I’ll be careful.  Remember who you’re talking to.” Ginny pressed, her expression resolute.

 

“So, you stay there tonight.  Then what?” Ron asked, realizing how this Chinese firedrill of keepers was not the solution.

 

“I’ll be fine.”  Hermione spoke, her back still to him.

 

“Hermione…”  Ron scooted closer, his hand reaching out, but then withdrawing  “…please, you have to accept some help.”  With a bit more courage, he rested a hand lightly on her shoulder.  She flinched, sending a shock wave of pain straight to Ron’s chest and he drew back quickly.

 

  _This is all my fault.  Merlin, I’d give anything to make her better._

Ron cleared his throat, trying to suppress the moisture building behind his eyes.

Ginny continued, “If she’s stable in the morning, then I’ll head into work.  If not, I’ll call someone.  Alright?”  

 

“I don’t want her alone with him.  I'll come in the morning.”  Ron argued again.

 

"No, Ron.  I'll check on her." Harry said.

 

“If he comes back, I’ll send my patronus, alright?”  Ginny looked to both Harry and Ron, who checked each other and nodded their agreement.  

 

“If that…” Ron was about to use a derogatory term, but stopped himself “…if John comes back and gives you any grief, you let me know right away.  Understand?”

 

Ginny shot Harry a look that mixed between getting his permission and registering any concern.  Ron knew that Harry would never tell her she couldn’t go, but he also knew how to relate his feelings on a subject with more than just words.

 

She must have felt assured enough, turning back to Ron.  “Why don’t you head back to the office and I’ll get her home.”

 

Ron licked his lips, his heart still pounding furiously with emotion.  “Hermione…”  He had so many things to tell her, to assure her, but each one seemed to lead him down a path that left someone hurt.  He just couldn’t bear putting her in more misery and finally swallowed his words stepped back, glancing at his sister one final time before returning to his desk.

 

The last hour of the day was totally worthless.  If he wasn’t worrying about her medically, he was berating himself for one of a hundred reasons, the last being the fact that seeing her in that wet night gown produced an erection that put all others to shame.  He shifted uncomfortably, his uniform pants pressing into him tightly on the way home.

 

Ron cursed at himself, shamed and aroused, rushing to unzip his trousers the moment he stepped into his flat.  His aching, bruised body longed for the hottest shower imaginable, but his swollen cock needed to cool down.  Stripping as he walked down the hall, he stepped naked into his bathroom and flipped the water on.

 

  _How can you even think of Hermione that way when she’s so sick? You’re such a bastard._  

But his body wouldn’t listen and Ron finally allowed his hand to drift down, slipping gently over his swollen member.  He reached out, bracing himself on the wall, his other hand stroking his cock firmly, his mind drifting back to that image of Hermione’s dark nipples pointing through her wet gown, the knowledge she was completely naked in his office.

 

Suddenly the scene changed and Hermione was in his arms, the nightgown hitched up to her waist as she slowly lay back on his desk, arching her stomach toward him.  Ron stroked faster, his dream self reaching under her gown to cup her breast.  She moaned.  ‘I want you, Ron.’  His cock leaked pre-cum and he rubbed it over the head, the additional moisture just feeding his dream.

 

‘Spread your legs for me,’ his dream self asked and she drew them up and open, her hand reaching between her legs to rub herself.  Ron stroked harder, the orgasm beginning to build deep within his groin.  ‘Take me, Ron.  Now.’  Ron leaned over the desk, pressing his tip against her.  Dream Hermione moaned, wet and hot.  The coil had been sprung.

 

“Oh, you look good enough to eat.”  This voice was real, shocked and definitely not Hermione’s.

 

Unable to stop himself, Ron grunted as he spilled over his hand and the sink and part of the counter. Sucking in a breath, Ron stared in disbelief at the blonde standing in his doorway.

 

“You are so sexy, baby.”  Diane started pulling off her dress as Ron’s eyes popped out of his head in surprise.  He needed just a few more seconds before he’d be able to speak, his legs wobbly in the aftermath.

 

“I wish you would have called me before you wasted that on the counter.”  She released the clasp on her bra as she sauntered sexily toward him, running her finger through some of his ejaculate and rubbing it between her fingers as she smiled.

 

Her sucked in a raw breath.  “Diane, I would appreciate if you knocked first.”  Ron knew it was futile to rush to cover up.  She’d obviously seen him at his worst or was it his best?  Either way, he tried to stay calm and stop the scene from deteriorating further.  Pushing his hand under the faucet, the cold spray rinsed him clean.  Then he rinsed out the sink and wiped down the counter.

 

Diane had stepped out of her knickers and was now running her hands down his back, cupping his bum and drawing her leg up his hip.  “Diane, I know how this looks…”

 

“Oh, don’t worry lover.  I’m flattered that you’d think of me like this.  No need to apologize.  If it makes you feel any better, I’ve masturbated while thinking of you, too.”

 

Ron groaned at the mental image and leaned over the counter, both hands on the cool top, shaking his head internally at her misdirected logic and trying desperately to reign in his temper.  Instead of feeling gentle and erotic, her hands felt annoying and foreign.  His instincts were to swat them away, but his morals told him not to.  At least he wasn’t looking at her.  “Diane, please.  I’ve had a really long, tiring day.  I just needed a little emotional release.”

 

“I understand, Ronald.”  She blew in his ear.

 

Ron closed his eyes, clenching his jaw to keep control.  He didn’t want to yell at this girl again.  He needed to explain things to her.  “No, I don’t think you do.  I just can’t go any farther with you.”

 

“How about we just share a shower?  I’ll wash your back, give you a nice little massage.  You’ll sleep like a baby.”  Diane cooed, her voice smooth and seductive.  “You can wash me, too.”

 

His fingers dug into the counter, the frustration seething in his head.  “I’d really prefer to shower alone.  I’m exhausted.”  Ron explained, flat, unfeeling, detached as she finally looked up into the mirror over his sink. 

 

Diane looked disappointed.  Good.  He was past the point of explaining and just wanted to sleep.

 

 “Alright, baby.”  She stepped to his side and Ron followed, his own little test.  “You go ahead and enjoy your shower.  Get some sleep.  I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”  Picking up her dress, Ron recognized the intentional way she bent over in front of him, her shapely smooth arse displayed for him, blonde curls poking out from between her legs.  There was no doubt she had a terrific body.  Luckily, he passed his own test – the one that weighed his desire for Hermione against the temptations of Diane.  It was no contest.   

 


	11. Chapter 11 - Cure and Consequences

  
Author's notes: Once again, my heartfelt thanks to Indie and missgranger2 for their awesome proof-reading skills and ability to send my ego soaring to new heights with their positive and constructive feedback.  And to everyone reviewing, I can't tell you how excited I get to see a review coming in.  I spend the whole day after posting just checking my email to see what you think.  So, thank you, thank you!!  


* * *

 Chapter 11 - Cure and Consequences

 

Ron woke to a tapping on his window.  The curtains had been pulled shut in an attempt to block out the daylight, but Ron got up and pull it back, wincing as the sun hit him squarely in the face.  It was already late-morning, but the previous day’s activities had left him injured, exhausted and emotionally drained.  Luckily, Kingsley had given him the day off and Ron’s plan had been to get some sleep, confident that Ginny had things in hand.  However, this larger brown owl seemed very insistent and Ron let him in, taking the parchment and slipping him a small treat from the nearby bowl.

 

He rubbed his head and yawned, walking back to sit on the edge of his bed.  His eyes didn’t quite focus, but he opened the letter and shook his head to remove the cobwebs.

  _Mr. Weasley,_

_You are listed as the Emergency Contact for a Ms. Hermione Granger who was recently a patient at St. Mungo’s.  I have been trying to reach her as I have important information about her treatment.  However, she has not responded to any of my letters and it appears her Floo is offline._

_She did not come in for her blood test this morning as promised and it is imperative that we see her.  Could you please try to make contact with her and urge her to come in to St. Mungo’s as soon as possible?_

_Regards,_

_C. M. Collins, Healer_   

Ron scrubbed his head, a bit more fiercely than usual – a combination of frustration, anger and puzzlement.  Why didn’t Ginny take her?  Maybe she didn’t know?  Was Hermione home alone?  Slipping on a blue button down, he pulled out a pair of clean khakis, not bothering to button them as he picked up his shoes and socks and trudged to the kitchen.  Stepping onto the cool tiled floor, he was struck with the smell of coffee.  This seemed strange since he rarely drank the stuff and certainly hadn’t started it brewing.  

 

Instead of his jaw, it was his shoes dropping to the floor as Diane stepped out from behind the pantry doors.  “Good morning, Ronald.”

 

He tried to cover up the grunt with an intense clearing of the throat.  For whatever reason, he wasn’t all that surprised to find her here.  Recalling their encounter from the previous night, Ron quickly zipped his trousers, not wanting to give her any ideas.  

 

“Morning,” he spoke lowly, keeping his head turned down.  Buttoning his shirt, he tried to keep the conversation to a minimum. 

 

  _Why can’t she leave me alone?_  

 

She set a plate in front of him and leaned down to kiss his head.  He rolled his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek.

 

  _Just be nice,_ _Ron_ _._  

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Oh, you’re welcome, baby.”  Her affectionate gestures were increasing in frequency and scope, her fingers trailing down his chest, taking over to button the last button at the bottom.  “Are you feeling better today?”

 

Ron couldn’t help but glance down, wondering what she was going to try next.  “A little.”

 

“I’m glad.”  She picked up his fork, pushing it into the eggs.  “So, I was thinking we could walk through London a bit.  There’s this jeweler that I’ve been wanting to visit.”

 

_Oh, no, she is_ not _going to try and feed me_.

 

He quickly took the fork, heading her off at the pass.  “I can’t, Diane.  I need to take a friend to the hospital.  I’m sure you understand.”  It was a relief not having to lie, although at this point, Ron would have sworn that he had an appointment to model dresses on the moon if it would get him away from her.

 

“Oh, you’re such a good friend, aren’t you?  It’s one of the reasons I love you.”

 

Ron cringed, forcing down the mouthful of food.  That same conversation he had held with himself on the park bench rushed back at him with a fury.  He needed to have a serious talk with this girl and end things, but there wasn’t time at the moment.  He ate quickly, slipping on his socks and shoes before slamming back the coffee.  Black and a bit too strong.  Again, it wasn’t his style, but at least it woke him up.  “I’ve got to run, but thanks for breakfast.”  No reason to not be polite, as his mother always said.

 

He grabbed his wand off the counter, right next to the spot he had dropped his trousers the night before. 

 

“Wait, I’ll come with you,” Diane called, pulling off her apron.

 

Ron felt a giant grunt of disgust rattle in his stomach.  “Diane, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

 

“Oh, I won’t get in the way.  I’ll just be a newt on the wall.  Maybe we can stop up and see Ginny.”  And then came the blackmail, the ‘I usually get what I want’ innuendo, the intentional play on Ron’s sense of loyalty:  “My father has been wondering how things were going with her department.  I could give him a little report.”

 

Ron recognized the ploy.  Even though, he really didn’t want her along, but needed a quick compromise in order to get to Hermione as soon as possible.  “Why don’t you go on to the hospital and I’ll meet you there when I’m done.”  The last thing he wanted was Diane talking to Hermione.  That could be the final nail in his coffin when it came to any reconciliation with Hermione.

 

“Alright!”  She smiled brightly, thrilled to have won her way once again.

 

Within ten minutes, Ron found himself in front of the familiar paint-chipped door, feeling just as anxious, if not more, as the first time he stood in this hall.  He assumed the git wasn’t around based on the previous days’ adventures and the fact that the hospital had been unable to reach her.  So, with slightly less trepidation, Ron knocked on the door.

 

Would she still be embarrassed over yesterday’s encounter?  What could he do to make her feel more comfortable?  At least Ginny had been there overnight.  He assumed she was gone by now.  That gave him the slightest comfort and hope that Hermione would look and feel a bit better this morning.  “Calm down, Ron.”  He blew out a breath as he heard the first of several locks disengaging on the door.

 

Finally, the door cracked open, a chain still stretching the open gap.  “Yes?”

 

“Hermione, it’s me.  Can you open up?”

 

“Ron?  Why are _you_ here?”

 

“Is Ginny here with you?”

 

“No, um…she left for work earlier.  I was feeling better so I told her to go ahead and go.”

 

“Where’s what’s his name?”

 

“I’m not sure.”  Hermione’s statement was flat, uncaring.  “So, why are you here again?”

 

“I came to pick you up and take you to St. Mungo’s.”  The gap in the door wasn’t large, but Ron could tell she was still in her bedclothes and wearing the same dark circles under her eyes.

 

“What?  Why?” she asked.

 

“You were supposed to come in for a check and when you didn’t arrive, they tried contacting you, but couldn’t reach you so, they contacted me.”

 

“I don’t understand.  Why would they contact you?”

 

“Hermione, may I please come in?  I’d rather not explain all this while standing in your hall.”

 

Hermione pursed her lips and nodded, stepping back to close the door and release the chain.  A second later, it swung open and Ron stepped through, realizing she was hiding behind the door itself, her head poking around the edge.

 

She wouldn’t meet his eyes.  “I need to grab my dressing gown.”

 

“Oh…um…would you like me to get it for you?”

 

She hesitated, still shielding herself behind the door.  “No…I’ll get it.”  

 

Ron realized in an instant that she was feeling either shy or embarrassed, _probably both_ , and he tried to make things easier, stepping into the room farther so that his back was now facing her.  Considering their current relationship, or lack there of, it wasn’t a surprise that Hermione wouldn’t want him to see her in her nightgown.  And, he wasn’t about to even think of the fact that he’d seen her in it just the night before.

 

The door closed.  Her soft footsteps padded behind him as he glanced curiously toward the sparkling kitchen.  This was the first time he’d actually seen her flat.  The previous visits had resulted in git boy’s intervention at the door.  It was quite nice.  Very Muggle, but nice.  For a second Ron considered how appropriate that seemed considering her current situation.  Amazing that she could keep it clean, or maybe that was John’s doing.  It might be the only thing positive about the man.

 

“So _why_ did the hospital call you exactly?” she asked, moving across the room.

 

He stepped casually toward the window, not looking at anything particular, but giving her a moment of modesty.  “I’m listed as your Emergency Contact.”  The view wasn’t spectacular, but he could still see the appeal of having so much light in the flat.

 

“You are?”  Her voice was more distant and he noted peripherally that she was entering her bedroom.

 

“Yeah.”  He raised his volume just a bit to carry into the next room.  “That night you collapsed at the Burrow and I brought you in, I had to put down a name for the Emergency Contact and I just listed myself.  I hope you don’t mind.  I knew your parents were out of the country so…”

 

“That was you?”  Startled, he twitched at the closeness of her voice.  She stood just behind him.  

 

Ron turned, nodding nervously as a burst of color raced over his cheeks when he found himself directly in front of her.  However, any lustful feelings were tapped down when he finally got a good look at her.  She reminded him of his then ten year old sister when she had caught the Bangkok Flu: exhausted, probably dehydrated, thin, her eyes looking grayed and hollow.  But at least she wasn’t delirious and it appeared the fever had broken.

 

She gripped the pink terry cloth gown around her, staring at the carpet, her voice soft and unsure when she spoke.  “At St. Mungo’s that night.”  A pause.  Ron could see her struggle with the words and was about to speak, but wasn’t sure if it should be an apology, an acknowledgement or a denial.  Luckily, she continued her confession.  “I remember someone talking to me all night.  Even joking with me.”  Her wide brown eyes met his for a second and she gulped with sudden awareness.  “Touching me.  That was you?”

 

He nodded again, unsure of what to say.  He didn’t want to make her feel any worse and he knew they had to get to the hospital and yet, he wanted to sit down and tell her everything.  To confess his sins and receive absolution from the only person on earth who could give it to him.

 

Hermione seemed stymied herself and promptly, abashedly turned away.  The moment she turned, his eyes were drawn to a spot on the back of her head.  Hermione’s hand reached up and rested on the same spot.  The usually thick, brown wavy hair had fallen out, leaving a small knut-sized patch of pink scalp clearly visible.  

 

Ron felt his heart pick up speed as he watched her shoulders rise and fall more dramatically.  He couldn’t tell if she was crying or just trying to get her breathing under control.  Either way, it appeared she was upset, just what he didn’t want for her.

 

Turning her head just slightly, she mumbled over her shoulder.  “Thank you.”  The last word cut out.

 

Cautiously, Ron stepped forward and placed his hands very softly on her shoulders.  “Hermione, please don’t get upset.  I’m sorry if I embarrassed you or anything yesterday or before…I-I just wanted to help you.”  His mouth opened and closed a few more times, the thoughts too intense to verbalize.  He let out a deep breath and sniffed, putting himself right again as he took one step in retreat.  On this particular morning, he was here for a reason and it wasn’t to make up with her or satisfy his personal emotional needs.  She had an important appointment to make.  “We do need to get to St. Mungo’s soon.  The owl they sent sounded rather urgent.”

 

“But I look so ugly!”  Still turned away, her hand reaching up quickly to her face and Ron could only guess she was trying to destroy any evidence of emotion.  “It started to fall out this morning.”

 

“Hermione, it’s just hair.”

 

Ron leaned back from the ripple of air current that whipped past him when she turned back.  “But I like my hair!”

 

“I thought you always hated your hair?  You always complained about it being so bushy and hard to manage.  Maybe this is nature’s way of solving your problem.”  Congratulating himself on his unparalleled logic, Ron grinned.

 

He didn’t get the reaction he had hoped for.  Instead, she swiped at another tear, her head tipped down as if in shame over nature’s cruel twist on her god given gifts.  

 

Ron gently nudged her chin up with his hand until she met his eyes.

 

“You’re not ugly, Hermione.  Trust me.  I know.  I’m a bloke that spends ninety percent of my time girl watching.  I definitely know what’s beautiful and what’s ugly.”

 

“Ninety percent, huh?” She attempted a weak smile.  “Do the girls ever look back?”

 

“What girls?”

 

“All the ones you’re watching, of course.”

 

“I’m only watching one and she’s looking back at me right now.”

 

Hermione wobbled and Ron was sure her cheeks had turned bright crimson.  On the contrary, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.  His instincts told him to kiss her and do to it fast, but before he could, she stuttered out a reply.  

 

“I-I need to get dressed.”  He frowned with disappointment as she shuffled toward her bedroom, gripping a piece of furniture every few feet, her legs appearing wobbly and unsure.

 

Running a hand through his fringe, he paced the living room while she changed, trying to figure out what to say next and how to say it.  Why couldn’t he just talk to her?  They used to talk all the time.  Relaxed.  They were experts at the art of flirtatious banter.  Heck, even an argument with her would be enjoyable, although most likely detrimental to her health.  So, that was out of the question.  He truly missed that fiery look in her eyes when she got into an argument or decided to debate her side of an issue.  Now she just looked defeated and vulnerable.  It made his heart ache.

 

He rubbed his jaw, as if smothering the concerned words that wanted to escape.  In an effort at personal distraction, he glanced around the room a bit more.  Overall, it appeared quite neat.  A quick tour revealed nothing out of the ordinary until Ron rounded the sofa and noticed the phone was off the hook.  No wonder no one could reach her.  Faulty Floo, phone off the hook, no jerk at home to help.  The protector in him wanted to know where the hell John was and why he had left her here alone, wanted to punch him, curse him, cut him into tiny pieces and feed him to that giant spider lurking somewhere in the forest.  But, his passionate side decided it was unwise to bring him up at a time like this and that he should be grateful for his absence.  He would never have any alone time with her as long as John was around.  Ron’s stomach swirled with mixed emotions on the topic.  He certainly didn’t want him here, but without him, she had no one to care for her a good portion of the time.  Ginny had been an angel, and Harry, too.  They had all tried to help, wanted to help, but they also had jobs and responsibilities.

 

Ron decided right then and there that he was going to go to Kingsley tomorrow and ask for that leave of absence.  Even if, by some unlucky chance, jerk face came back, Ron would drag him out of her flat by his testicles and take enormous pleasure in doing so.  Of course, that might upset her more.  Ron paused again to contemplate his course of action.  She might be uncomfortable at first, but she needed better care.

 

Hermione stepped out of her bedroom and Ron jerked, wondering if she had somehow heard his thoughts, but she appeared calm, perhaps a bit apprehensive, but calm.  Ron tried not to, but he had to smile at her unbrushed hair and the fact that she didn’t look her usual ‘put together’ self.  Anyone in her condition definitely deserved a comfy sweatshirt and some denims.  To him, she looked tired, but adorable.  

 

“Alright, I’m ready.” She sighed.  It was the heavy sigh of someone who had spent far too many hours in a healer’s office or hospital during the past week.

 

Ron tried a smile, hoping to get a little one in return and she did manage to at least push the corners of her mouth up for a second.  Ron opened the door and held it for her as she stepped out.

 

“How are we going?”  She got to the stairs and looked rather shaky, gripping the banister like she was used to safety first when it came to this flight of steps.

 

“I thought a taxi might work best, if that’s alright.”  Ron didn’t hesitate, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her hand up to his opposite shoulder.  She wasn’t about to fall, not while in his care.  Her first knee-jerk reaction, expected, was to flinch away from his contact, but she must have realized the necessity and moved down the steps cautiously leaning against him ever so slightly.  

 

Her scent was familiar, beautiful and he basked in the heat of her body leaning against him, her soft waves ticking his skin as he held her close.  For a miniscule moment, he reminisced of his lustful weakness in the bathroom the night before, picturing her as he brought himself off.  Diane’s face snapped him out of his revelry.

 

After a brief taxi ride, they arrived at St. Mungo’s.  Ron wanted to touch her and hold her every step of the way, but he held himself in check, only offering a hand or arm when she appeared to really need it.

 

Walking into the main lobby, Ron whispered for her to wait and he went to the desk, giving them her name and telling the lady she had an appointment with Healer Collins.

 

They didn’t wait long before a young man strode purposefully down the hall toward them, a pleasant, but professional smile on his face.

 

“Ms. Granger?”  He offered his hand.

 

“Yes.”  They shook.

 

“I’m Healer Collins.”  He turned and offered his hand again.  “I assume you are Mr. Weasley?”

 

“Yes, sir.  I got your owl and brought her down as soon as I could.”

 

“I’m so glad I was able to reach you.  I’ve been working with Healer Rockwood on your case.”

 

Hermione cut in.  “I’m sorry I missed my appointment.  I just haven’t been feeling well and…”

 

“I understand.  Actually that’s why we needed to see you.  I have some good news.”  He gestured for them to follow him.  “Let’s go and talk in my office.”

 

Ron glanced at Hermione who smiled at him – a full smile.  For the first time in days she glowed with hope, her brown eyes just a bit more clear, her steps slightly more sure although she still wobbled and had to lean on Ron a few steps later.  And Ron felt a surge of relief heat his cheeks as he followed her into the office.

 

“Please sit.”  Healer Collins walked around behind his desk, sitting eagerly in his leather back chair.  “I’ve found a specialist in the United States.  He says there’s another possible treatment for your condition.  He was fascinated when I told him about your low nuclidite count and he wanted to see you.”

 

“America?  I…I’m not sure…” Hermione stammered. 

 

“I don’t know that she could manage a trip to America right now.” Ron argued, hoping he had read her correctly.  She pinched her lips together and Ron recognized the look that told him he had answered appropriately.

 

“No!” the Healer corrected.  “You don’t understand.  He came here.  He wants to meet you.”

 

“He’s here?  Now?”

 

“He is.  So, will you see him?”  Healer Collins waited eagerly, his expression almost giddy with excitement.

 

“Of course.”

 

With a spring in his step and a bright smile, the healer stepped out of his office leaving Hermione and Ron alone.  Hermione reacted as if someone had shot her veins full of adrenaline, her breathing deepened, her heart pumped harder and she squeaked out a high pitched “Oh” as she blinked back a quart of happy tears.

 

Hope literally filled the air and Ron couldn’t help himself, he turned and wrapped his arms around her.  And in the bombshell response of the month, she squeezed his neck tightly.  It was heaven.  At least to him.  It was certainly plausible that this hug held only platonic connotations for Hermione, but even so, Ron sunned himself in the heat of her warm arms, the scent, the softness of her feminine curves.  He wanted to just stay there, to pretend that this was his reality, but that would be selfish.  Instead he regretfully pulled back, gently placing both of his large hands on her pale, but flushed, cheeks, holding her gently just inches from his face.  He desperately wanted to kiss her, but forced himself to maintain eye contact.  Staring at her mouth would be a dead giveaway.

 

As it was, her lips parted slightly as a burst of air sucked past her teeth, eyes gazing softly and yet tightly centered on him.  If he were a gambling man, the chips would fall on her desiring him just as much as he did her.  It was a paralyzing moment for both of them.

 

Just when Ron had finally talked himself in to kissing her, the door opened.  He immediately dropped his hands and shifted back in the chair, but it appeared the gentleman in the doorway recognized his intrusion.  Happily, he didn’t say anything, instead walking up to Hermione who had a healthy looking flush about her.  If the moment hadn’t been so awkward, Ron would have felt honored at having been the cause of such a colorful demonstration.

 

“Ms. Granger, my name is Eric Parker.  I’m a healer in the United States and I’ve heard about your condition and came here to see if I could help you.”

 

Parker stood about five feet eleven, had a fit build, brown eyes and dark hair with bits of gray streaks just beginning to give it middle-aged definition.  Ron guessed him to be in his early to mid forties.

 

“Oh, thank you very much.”  Hermione was nearly in tears and Ron reached out to rub her back for a brief second.    

 

“I don’t mean to be rude, but what I have to tell you is rather private.  I think it would be best if we spoke alone, without your friend.”

 

Hermione glanced at Ron, unsure, licking her lips.  “Um…alright.  Ron, do you mind waiting outside?”

 

“Sure.  Just call if you need me.”  Ron was about to touch her hand assuredly, but decided to avoid any more physical contact in front of the healer.  For a second, a thought flashed in Ron’s mind, an image of git boy touching her, caressing her skin, smelling her hair.  It made sense that she would feel uncomfortable with Ron touching her.

 

“Ron?”

 

“What?  Oh…yeah…sorry.  I’ll...uh…just be out in the hall.”

 

*** 

 

Healer Parker sat in Ron’s former chair and pulled it to face Hermione, his smile bright and relaxed, his posture comfortable.

 

“So, I’m told that your nuclidite count is quite low, in fact, lower than most I’ve heard of in my studies.  That was what fascinated me.  I’ve only treated two patients with this low of a count before, the most recent about five years ago.  In the first case, the patient was critically low and we were out of ideas until I came up with a theory, purely experimental at the time.  We probably wouldn’t have tried this except that we were desperate.  She was only fifteen and we nearly lost her.”

 

“Why wouldn’t you have tried it otherwise?  It must be really bad.”

 

“Yes and no.  It was somewhat traumatic for her being as young as she was, but for you…”  Hermione’s expression went from hopeful anticipation to frightened foreboding.  “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to freak you out.”  He smiled, probably hoping it would put her at ease, but Hermione’s entire body had tensed with visions of the most horrendous experiments.  Resting his hand on her forearm, he nodded, raising his brows in expectation of her understand.  “I promise, I’ll explain everything in a moment.  I just wanted you to realize that this isn’t something I would normally suggest, but as your level is dropping and your blood type is so rare, you might be forced to…well, to try it.”

 

“Alright.”  She wasn’t accepting anything or agreeing to it, only prompting him to continue with the awareness that she had understood his explanation.

 

“Normally, and I know this has been explained to you, we search for a person with matching blood and magical types and give a series of blood transfusions.  Sometimes several are required.  I’ve read of one case where four transfusions were required to restore just a minimal level of magic.  However, this theory that I had…well, it worked as good or better than the blood transfusion.  Only two or three…um…treatments and the patient was cured and at full strength.”

 

“Treatments?”

 

The healer was having a hard time telling her what this entailed, meaning it had to be awfully bad and Hermione felt her stomach knot up the longer he put off informing her of the nature of this treatment.  When he spoke next, it was somewhat slower, anticipatory.

 

“Instead of blood, the magic can be rebuilt by the transfer of other bodily fluids.”

 

“Other bodily fluids?  Like what?  Saliva?”  She blinked rapidly, trying to absorb this information.

 

 “Semen.”

_Did he say…no, he couldn’t have…?_   

He gave her a few seconds before he continued.  “There are some stipulations.  It only works when the donor is pure-blood and has a matching magical type to the recipient.  Both parties have to ingest a bonding potion before…well, before completing the act.”

 

“Act?”  Hermione’s voice hitched higher as she tried to shake the picture from her mind.

 

“The potion helps to strengthen the patient and to help in the transfer and bonding of the nuclidites from the donor.”

 

“You have got to be kidding!  You’re talking about sex.  You want me to have sex with some stranger!  Are you insane?  You made some fifteen year old girl have sex?”  Her cupped hand slipped shakily over her mouth.  The force of several rapid breaths warmed her palm, but was of little comfort as she looked out the window.  As if it would help, her fingers pressed into her cheek bones, trying to stave off the tears that threatened to well up in her eyes.

 

“I told you that this was rather unorthodox.  It’s a last ditch effort to save the patient, but it did work with the fifteen year old.  We couldn’t match her blood type either.  Of course, it was rather traumatic for her.  We recommend an Obliviate spell, but she refused so she did require several years of counseling.  Bottom line, it saved her life.”

 

Pulling in what she hoped was a steadying breath, Hermione began to get more details, hoping that this could somehow work out with less trauma than expected.  “Can’t the donor just…you know…put it in a cup and you can inject it later or something?”

 

“I’m afraid not.  The nuclidites die too quickly and besides that, there is a physiological aspect to this.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean that just transferring the fluids is not enough.”

 

Hermione stared at him, some combination of appalling disbelief and wary confusion written all over her face.  The healer let out a breath and sat back as if retelling an age old story he’d recited hundreds of times before.

 

“Hermione…is it alright if I call you Hermione?”  She nodded blankly, not really hearing him with all the other disturbing visions rushing through her head.

 

“Think of it this way…the magical population has only grown due to the determined fashion that magical people have married and reproduced.  Did you ever notice that most magical folks marry and have children, and usually at a young age?  It’s inherent in both their upbringing and in their instincts.  You don’t see a lot of forty year-old bachelors in the wizarding world.  The magical cells, nuclidites, flow throughout their body.  The best way I can describe it would be a kind of mixed Aphrodisiac and pseudo-genetic requirement.  The cells basically insist that they pro-create and usually with more than one urge in a lifetime, but not always.  It’s a very strong urge.  By finding a partner whom you’re really drawn to, the potency of the magic increases, usually producing highly magical children.  Statistics show that sixty percent of children born to magical women who are either in an unhappy relationship or are raped end up as Squibs or worse.  Regardless of whether the father is magical or not.” 

 

“But, I’m a Muggleborn.  My parents aren’t magical and yet, here I am.”

 

“Yes, indeed.  Muggles still carry a low amount of nuclidites and if together, the couple produces just the right amount, a magical child will show up in the mix.  But because Muggles contain such a low amount, things like viruses, injuries, etc. can affect their count and hence weigh the scales one way or the other when it comes to the count within their children.  Of course, some of this is still unknown.  After all, we live in a society where things happen,” he chuckled, “well…magically.  Some of it is hard to explain.  As healers, we’ve spent centuries studying the way that we differ from the Muggle population and we still don’t understand most of it.”

 

“I just figured it was genetic or chromosomal or something.”

 

“No.  That it’s not.  You have the same number of chromosomes as any other human being.  You’re no different than the average Muggle, you bleed the same, you bear children the same, you get sick the same.  It’s just that on top of it all, you have a talent, albeit a scientifically cell-induced talent that allows you to direct your focus and energy to alter the shape and course of your environment and objects around you.”

 

“Alright, so that makes sense, but it still comes down to the fact that you want me to have sex with some unknown man.”

 

“Yes.  That’s one of the reasons I asked your friend to leave the room.  I find that it’s difficult to lay this option out when a husband or boyfriend is standing by.”

 

“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend…”

 

“Maybe not, but it’s obvious that he has feelings for you and this is something that clearly interferes with existing relationships.”

 

“So, I just lie there and let this…” she crinkled her nose in disgust “…stranger do his thing and get it over with and I’ll be all better?”

 

“Not exactly.  You remember I said there is a physiological aspect to this?”

 

Hermione nodded blankly.

 

“The reason the fifteen year old was so traumatized, besides the fact that she was young and being forced to do something quite intimate…the donor was a forty-two year old man.  And, they had to repeat the treatment four times to get her back to a minimal level of magic.”

 

“Oh, god.  That’s like doing it with your father!  No wonder she was upset!  Oh…” Hermione looked on the verge of tears, but the healer jumped in quickly continuing his explanation.

 

“Yes, but in the second case I mentioned…the donor and recipient were closer in age and it happens they kind of hit it off before hand.  It only required three tries with them and the nuclidites jumped dramatically.  It seems that the intensity of feelings, the emotional connection between the partners, has some kind of impact.  We’re not sure if it’s hormonal or some electrical connection in the brain.  As I said, this is quite new and we’re still learning.”

 

“Oh, so that makes it easier.”  Her arms flailed around wildly.  It was probably the most energetic she had looked in over a week.  “I just have to fall in love with some unknown man who could be sixty years old and do it with him like I love it then everything will be fine!”  Her chest rose and fell with undisguised panic, water washing over her eyes.  Healer Collins didn’t speak.  It seemed he was giving her a moment to get through this latest news.

 

“Well, what we can do is slip a little love potion in with the other potion and it sort of acts as a catalyst.  It releases endorphins into the system and…”

 

Ginny chose this moment to walk through the door.  “Hermione?  What’s wrong sweetie?”  She rushed to her side, shooting a quick glance at the healer.

 

“Ginny.”  Hermione wrapped her arms around her friend, clearly needing the support.

 

Ginny patted her back and looked to Healer Parker.  “What’s going on?  Ron came and got me.  He said a specialist was here to see Hermione.”

 

“Eric Parker, US Board of Magical Medicine,” he offered his hand, rising part way off the chair in a clear gesture of gentlemanly etiquette.

 

“Ginny Weasley, best friend.”

 

“So, based on the garb I would venture a guess that you work here?” he asked, falling back into his chair.

 

“Infectious Spells Department,” she replied as Hermione finally let go and began wiping her eyes.  “So, what is this that’s upsetting her so much?  It can’t be good for her.”

 

“It’s obviously not my intention to upset any of my patients, but I was just informing Hermione of an optional cure that we could explore.”

 

“Well, that’s good news then, isn’t it?” Ginny knelt down in front of Hermione.

 

“Not necessarily,” Hermione sniffed.  “You haven’t heard what it involves.”  She was nearly shaking with the news.

 

“What does it involve?”

 

Healer Parker smiled and pulled another chair into their group, gesturing for Ginny to sit.  After asking Hermione for permission, he calmly re-explained the basics of it, somewhat more condensed, but Ginny clearly got the idea.

 

“Why pure bloods only?” Ginny asked when he was done.

 

“Only pure bloods have a high enough count of magical cells to withstand the transfer.  The cells will replenish themselves in time, but a half blood or less would find themselves in a similarly low situation if they lost a significant number of nuclidites.  With Hermione being as low as she is, her body, with the potion’s help, will pull those cells from the donor quite rapidly to try and rejuvenate her own cells.  Which brings up another issue.”

 

“What?” Hermione asked, rubbing her nose into a tissue that Ginny had just handed over.

 

“Well, it’s not like we have a pool of men just sitting out there ready and waiting to jump into bed with you.”  

 

Ginny and Hermione shared a somewhat disgusted look, but turned back to him for more information.

 

“It’s hard to find a donor.  Nearly as difficult as matching blood types.  You see, there are a limited number of men who have registered magical types and we have to start looking with those, then we expand into the general population.  Imagine trying to track down every pure-blood on the street and asking them if they’d be willing to…you know…with some girl.”

 

Hermione thought she might be sick, her skin rotating from pale to a sort of putrid green.

 

“We have to screen for diseases and mental illness to start with.  Then, of course, you remember what I said before about the magical population?  There just aren’t a lot of magical bachelors out there that are of age.  So, how does a married man convince his wife that he has to cheat on her with some other woman to save her life and this certainly isn’t the kind of intimate loving union that is needed.  Then there are possible side effects.”

 

“Side effects?” Ginny asked and Hermione looked up with curiosity.

 

“Drawing so many nuclidites from the donor so quickly can have negatives affects.  Like I said, I’ve only seen two cases like this, but the one gentleman ran a fever for weeks afterward.  The other vomited repeatedly for days and ended up hospitalized for dehydration.  So, it’s not pretty and it is my obligation to make sure the donor knows the hazards as well as the benefits.  They have the option of refusing.”

 

“Oh, god, this is useless.”  Hermione was overcome with emotion, her head in her hands as Ginny gently stroked her back.

 

“No, honey, it’s not useless.  We can make this work.  It’s just going to take some time and patience.  We will figure this out.”  Ginny pulled in a sharp breath as if a sudden thought had hit her and her eyes popped wide looking back to the healer.  “Um…you haven’t mentioned the one other possible side-effect.”

 

“What’s that?” he asked.

 

“Pregnancy.  Clearly the donor can’t use a condom, that kind of defeats the purpose, but what about the potion or a contraceptive spell?”

 

He sighed as if knowing this would be coming.  “Yes, you’re correct.  No condoms.  The contraceptive spell won’t work on her with such a low count and the birth control potion has ingredients that can counteract the effects of the potion used in the transfer, so that’s not an option either.  We can try very low dose Muggle birth-control pills, but there’s a chance they can be counter-productive as well.  The best we can do is try to time this at a point when we think she’s not ovulating and hope for the best.”

 

“W-what if I do get pregnant?” Hermione asked weakly, obviously this news had drained her even more; just another rock on her already crumbling house of matches.  She crumpled against Ginny, desperate for assurance.

 

“You wouldn’t be able to survive a pregnancy if the transfer doesn’t work, but if it does, well…I guess that’s a discussion for later.”

 

Suddenly, Hermione pressed a hand over her mouth and, hunching over, left the room with as much speed as she could manage.  The chair toppled in her wake as she pushed through the door and looked for a restroom sign.

 

“Hermione!”  Ron bolted up from the bench down the hall and followed her as she shuffled toward the door on the right with the ladies room symbol on it.  Bile rose into her mouth and she struggled to keep it down, but visions of lying helplessly with some old, vile man humping her with obscene delight brought a fresh wave of sickness right up her throat.  She only made it to the edge of the sink before everything came back up.

 

Gripping the porcelain basin, her stomach clenched repeatedly, the spasms threatening to drain what little energy she still had.  Her mind was so occupied, she never heard the footsteps behind her until a warm hand lifted her hair out of the sink and another wrapped protectively around her waist.  “It’s alright, let it all out and you’ll feel better.”  It was Ron’s voice.  He was still here.

 

With utter revulsion, her diaphragm jerked again, but this time her stomach had already emptied and she just heaved uncontrollably into the air.  His hand landed on her back, stroking gently as he offered quiet shushing noises in her ear.

 

Another pair of feet walked into the room and a moment later she heard water running and then a cool cloth pressed against her forehead.  She closed her eyes, her mouth still dripping with expelled saliva as she breathed in and out quickly, whimpering softly, praying her stomach would settle.

 

“What happened?” he asked.

 

“I’ll explain later.”  It was Ginny in the room with them.  “I think she needs to lie down.”

 

Hermione reached blindly for the tap, turned the water on and reached out to cup some in her hand.  After splashing a bit on her face, she took a mouthful and swirled it around, trying to get the nasty taste from her mouth.

 

Her attempt to stand was thwarted by a small pool of vomit that had missed the sink and now coated the bottom of her shoe.  Her arms tried to grab the sink, but her feet went out from under her. However, before she could fall, Ron’s arms caught her from behind, slipping under her armpits.  Her unsettled stomach provided the only distraction to her embarrassment as she saw two hands firmly gripping her breasts.

 

“Um…oh, um…I’m sorry…let’s get you out of this mess.” Ron stuttered, lifting her back to her feet and quickly removing his hands from the intimate location. 

 

Ginny took his place, wrapping Hermione with a comforting arm as they stepped back into the hall, Ron following, his ears clearly tipped in red.  Healer Parker was waiting in the hall and opened the next exam room door, not the office door they had exited.

 

“I’m fine…really.”  Hermione struggled to put herself straight, but her clammy looking skin obviously said otherwise.

 

“Come on in here and lie down a bit.” Ginny suggested, steering her toward the exam room.

 

“No, I’m fine.  I don’t want to spend any more time in this horrible place.”  With weepy eyes, she turned back to Ron.  “Please, just take me home.”

 

Ron appeared pained at her expression and glanced at his sister for advice or support, none of which would ever make him feel better about Hermione’s condition.  “Maybe you should just rest a little before I take you back.”

 

Ginny managed to get her onto the exam table where Hermione curled onto her side.  Before Ginny could leave, Hermione grabbed her hand and pulled her close, nose to nose.

 

“Ginny, please…please, don’t tell Ron about this,” she whispered pleadingly.

 

The two shared a look, an understanding born of years of friendship.  Hermione knew that Ginny had been tuned into the emotional connection between her brother and best friend for years.  Just as Healer Parker had indicated; this was not the type of news you could easily share with your significant other.  The suggestion flashed in Hermione’s head that sharing this with John made little difference to her, but to Ron it meant the world.  Ginny must have understood for the corners of her mouth inched up and she stroked the hair back from Hermione’s worried face and whispered, “He won’t hear it from me.”

 

“Thank you.”  

 

*** 

 

Ron stood in the doorway and watched for a moment.  Healer Parker stopped beside him and Ron noticed.  “What happened?  What did you say to her?”

 

“I’m just trying to help her.  It’s just that some options are less appealing than others.”

 

Ginny approached them, looking satisfied that Hermione would rest for a little while.  Her expression indicated she had overheard the healer’s comments and she whispered, pushing the men out of the doorway.  “Appealing, my arse.”

 

“Ron, can you tell the desk to get a cleaning crew for the bathroom and then go back to her flat and get her a clean shirt?  I don’t think she wants to lie there smelling of vomit.”  Ron nodded as Ginny turned to the healer.  “Healer Parker, could I speak with you in private?”

 

Ron frowned, watching his sister and the healer move into the next room.  He trusted Ginny would get to the bottom of this and he’d have to settle for a conversation later.  Ron pivoted around, a clean shirt his current focus.

 

*** 

 

Hermione had been resting on the vinyl cushion for about twenty minutes.  Her rolling stomach had begun to settle and she was now reclining with a cool washcloth on her forehead, thanks to the attending nurse that Ginny had called.  Her thoughts rotated from bad to worse, visions of herself bent over a table or flat on her back with some white-haired, smelly man having his way with her, his yellow teeth grinning as he thrust over and over.

 

Realizing this was going to do nothing for her already queasy stomach, Hermione forced her thoughts in a different direction.  Maybe they would find a young and handsome wizard who would be willing to help her.  In fact, she’d be happy with an average looking guy, if he was at least under forty and could manage a conversation.  Then again, she wouldn’t be doing much talking.

 

The image of a somewhat pudgy, average looking bloke with mousy brown hair formulated in her brain.  A little love potion and she could manage.  Would she opt for an Obliviate afterwards?  Maybe some Pensieve treatments?  Would she want to remember?

 

  _What a way to lose one’s virginity._

 

Without warning and over the course of one slow blink, the image in her mind evolved.  The hair became the vibrant red she loved so much, the build slimmed and grew taller and that all too familiar smile erupted on his face.  Why couldn’t this be her savior?  Ron was the only cure that wouldn’t require any love potion, the lone soul that she would willingly give herself to, share herself with.  It should be him taking her innocence.

 

Even John with his charm twelve layers thick couldn’t convince her to give up the ultimate prize.  Like any red-blooded young single man, John tried every tactic, conversation, wit, romance, unconvincing passion.  Hermione hadn’t given in, although she had latched on, perhaps even led him on just a little.  Guilty as she was of the come on, the tease – it wasn’t due to any sexual frustration or desire.  Shamefully, her motivations were mainly loneliness and a need to validate herself, to ensure that when she finally came home and discovered that Ron had moved on, she would have her own stories to tell.  Looking back at her misguided actions, a deep humiliation began to wash over her.  Ron deserved more friendship and loyalty than she had given him.  In fact, she should have kicked John out the minute he showed up at her flat.  

 

This was one time when being sick had worked to her advantage.  When he came to the door, when she saw him actually standing there looking absolutely smashing, her knees nearly gave out.  She had to hide behind the door to mask the fact that her chest was about to burst open from the incessant whomping of her heart.

 

  _My god he looked good._  

 

Hermione had felt like the character in some romance novel where the boy shows up all dashing and the girl is a mess.  And what a mess she was. Is.  How could he ever say those things?  She’s about as pretty as Mundungus Fletcher’s toenails.

 

  _Ew._

She’d seen them once and it wasn’t a pretty sight.  

 

Still, there was that moment when she walked back in and obviously startled him.  The way he looked at her.  It was, for lack of a better word, magical.  She tried desperately not to gaze at his lips, but she so wanted to kiss him.  Could he really have meant what he said?

  _He was the one at the hospital._

She didn’t remember a lot, but just that fact that he was there all night…he still cared.  Hermione’s heart soared with emotion.  Now if her body would just comply.  Maybe there was a future for them after all.  Even with the horrors that lay before her.  If she could just endure and get better, could they try again?  Would he understand if she had to be with another man before him?  Or would jealousy and outrage push a wedge between them?  

Her mind drifted.  The vile images now completely erased.  The Ron in her vision was touching her, caressing her cheek, smiling softly as he told her he loved her.  Hermione’s eyes slipped shut, her body relaxing into what she hoped would be a good dream.  However, a soft tap on the door snapped her awake.

 

“Come in.”

 

The door swung in slowly, a blond head of hair peeking around the corner.  “Hello?”

 

Hermione recognized the woman, but couldn’t place her at the moment.  “Hello.”

 

“I’m sorry.  Am I disturbing you?”

 

“Um…no, “ she lied, curious.  “Can I help you?” Hermione asked, trying to remember how she knew this woman.

 

“You’re the lady that came to the door at Ron’s flat that day, aren’t you?” Diane asked.

 

  _The tissue paper dress!_  

 

“Oh…that’s where I know you from.  Um…yes, that was me.”

 

“Ronald says you two are good friends.  I’m sorry to hear you’re ill.  He said he had to take a friend to the hospital at breakfast this morning and we agreed to meet here.  I couldn’t find him, but the nurse told me which room you were in.  I just thought I would stop in and see if you needed anything.  After all, Ron’s friends are my friends.  If I’m going to spend my life with him, we’ll have to get to know each other really well.  Would you like to be one of my bridesmaids?  Ooo, maybe you can help me pick out a wedding dress!”

 

“A w-wedding dress?”

 

“I know!  I’m a lucky girl, aren’t I?”  Diane bubbled.

 

Hermione was too stunned to speak.  Of course, even if she could, this woman seemed to possess the ability to talk for minutes at a time without taking a breath.  Diane pulled up a chair and sat down beside her.

 

“We were going to head into London today and check out this brilliant jeweler that I found.  Of course, I’d let him pretend to pick out the ring himself, but I was just going to give him some suggestions.  I was thinking that May would be lovely.  June is just too hot and I’ve always had my heart set on an outdoor wedding.  Diane Weasley.  Has a nice ring doesn’t it?”

 

The room started to swim.  Hermione felt her heartbeat plummet from the all consuming high to a deadly slow.  Still stunned, she began to wonder if it might just stop beating altogether.  She was dying anyway.  Maybe this would be the best way to go.  Just sleep and let your heart stop.  It only sped up for him anyway and it looked like any reason for a quick pitter-patter was smothered with this girl’s visit.  Why continue to fight?  What was worth fighting for?  A life without Ron wasn’t worth living.  He’d found someone to love so why did she need to stick around?

 

“Um…are you alright?” Diane asked, but Hermione ignored her, releasing a deep breath that contained a life’s worth of resolve, hope and love unfulfilled.  Her eyes began to droop, her limbs grew heavy as she concentrated on the slow but steady thumping in her chest.  She didn’t need blood anymore.  There would be no reason to walk, to talk, to read, to love.  This bed was as good a place as ever to die.  Perhaps Ginny would find her a nice plot, someplace green and sunny.  Maybe Harry and her would come to visit, put some daffodils on her grave.  She loved daffodils.  They reminded her of spring.

 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she offered silent wishes of love to her parents.  Her throat tightened up picturing Harry at the funeral and she found it harder to breathe. 

 

 Thump, thump. 

It slowed and her skin tingled.  Perhaps the blood wasn’t circulating enough anymore.  At least it didn’t hurt.   Hermione’s head tipped to the side and she closed her eyes.

Diane’s voice sound muted.  “Um…help…someone, I think this lady needs help.” 

_Just sleep Hermione.  You can dream of_ _Ron_ _and he’ll always be yours._   

Galump.


	12. Chapter 12 - Heaven or Hell

  
Author's notes: Thank you to everyone who reviewed.  I can see that everyone is quite encouraged by Hermione's possible cure!  This chapter is a bit shorter, but I promise to have another out soon.  Thanks again to Indie and missgranger2 for their support!  


* * *

 Chapter 12 – Heaven or Hell

 

When Hermione came to she was greeted by a soft feathery pillow and cool, crisp sheets, not the vinyl cushion of an exam table.  Without even questioning her environment, Hermione smiled and stretched.  She knew where she was.

 

  _Heaven._  

Just as expected, her dreams had been filled with Ron.  His smell lingered everywhere, the tingle of his hands on her skin still remained.  What a lovely dream.  She had never felt so secure, nestled against his chest as his strong legs rocked her with their stride.  She had no idea where the dream Ron was taking her, but it didn’t matter.  Perhaps he was the vehicle that carried her to heaven.  He had spoken to her.  The words made no sense, but the tone carried such a range of emotion.  It was like swinging in a hammock underwater, with ripples of current for wind and Ron’s soothing voice humming a merman’s lullaby.  Why anyone would want to wake up from such a dream was crazy.  The only plausible explanation gave her great satisfaction for affirming many long-held beliefs.  She had indeed reached heaven.  This was to be her ever after, her forever, this bliss of Ron’s arms and voice, singing to her for eternity.  She sighed contentedly.

 

“Hermione darling.”  

 

Maybe there was another facet to this dream?  This voice sounded like her mother - soothing and loving and yet out of place.  Suddenly that thought brought her out of the elysian sleep.  Why would her mother be here?  If this was heaven, then…  Her eyes snapped open, needing to confirm her own disbeliefs, but instead found the familiar smile of maternal warmth hovering above her.

 

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

 

“Mum?”

 

“How are you feeling today?”

 

“Mum?  What happened?  Why are you here?  Is Dad still alive?”

 

Her mum’s soft smile twisted to a slight grimace as she lifted her head and looked to something or someone on the other side of the room, then back at Hermione.  “Dad is fine, dear.”

 

“But…then why are you here?”

 

“I live here, sweetheart.”  Again her mother glanced to the opposite side of the room and Hermione tried to turn her head and look, but her mother placed both of her hands on Hermione’s cheeks and held her steady.  “Do you know where you are, Hermione?”

 

For the first time since she had sensed wakefulness, Hermione took a moment to actually look at her surroundings.  The light pink walls, white bookcase loaded with all her favorites, photos of her friends and family.

 

  _Wow.  So heaven can look just like your own bedroom._

“Ron brought you here.  He called us from the hospital and explained your condition.  Said he went to your flat to get you a change of clothes and when he came back you were delirious.  We had just walked in the door when he rang.  Your father heard the message on our answering service when you were already in route.”

 

“Ron?  He’s here?”  Hermione tried to sit up, but her mother placed a firm, but loving hand on her shoulder to press her back into the feather pillow.

 

“He just left.  His job called him back.  He wanted to stay dear.  He’s very worried about you.  You’ve got a very good friend in that boy.  Harry and Ginny, too.  Both of them have called to check on you.”

 

“Damn,” Hermione sighed.

 

“Hermione!” her mother gasped, clearly surprised to hear any form of vulgarity escape her daughter’s lips.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry.  I just wished I hadn’t missed Ron.”

 

“He’ll be back.  I wouldn’t worry.  I have a feeling we’ll have to set up visiting hours and send all your friends to see you in shifts.”

 

“Oh, I don’t think there are that many.”

 

“Ginny has explained some of this to us.  We know that you’re very ill, but she said you saw a specialist today who seemed quite hopeful about a new treatment.”

 

Hermione panicked.  “Did she tell you what it entailed?”

 

“No, but she sounded very positive.  Your father has made some calls and has arranged for some visiting nurses and another appointment with a doctor friend of his who specializes in immune disorders.”

 

“Mum, please…”

 

In motherly tradition, her mum stroked the hair off her face.  “Don’t worry, love, we’ll take care of you.  You’ll get better, it just may take some time.  And if you aren’t able to get your special abilities back…”  Her mother stopped mid-breath with an uncomfortable twist in her forehead as if she had just uttered the worst love-coated obscenity in the history of motherhood.

 

With tightly pursed lips, Hermione immediately changed her mind.  This sting of reality definitely wasn’t part of the whole heaven experience.  Such sobering truths would never escape her mother’s lips if she were in a realm of eternal bliss.  In fact, those words had quite the opposite effect, opening the gates to a furnace of rejection.  The thought of millions of blind eyes and deaf ears turning her way reduced her to the most infinitesimal of unwanted creatures.

 

As much as she loved seeing her parents and trusted in their care, she knew that none of their specialists or nurses or kind words and loving gestures would ever make her whole.  The mere suggestion of informing her parents as to the nature of this seemingly impossible cure made her stomach contents curdle.

  

_Hey mum, dad, can you excuse me while I have sex with this stranger in order to save my life?  Just ignore the squeaking bed frame.  We might have to do it twelve times since I don’t really love him._

For the second time that day, she covered her mouth and ran for the bathroom.

 

*** 

 

Ginny concentrated on concentrating.  Her focus needed to be on the samples she was testing and not floating from sample to Hermione to sample.  Blinking, the words on the parchment cleared back up and she compared the name on the vial with the list on the parchment.  Six samples, all from Vienna.  All purebloods. All very sick.  The label on the first vial indicated that it had come from a seven year old boy.  That was the youngest victim yet and seemed to indicate that this wasn’t some adults only disease.  This also tended to eliminate any suggestion that it was transmitted via any sexual method.

 

Opening the folder, Ginny lifted the other sheets of documentation and found a stack of photos.  These weren’t your average family snapshots, these contained bedridden, pale and lifeless looking people.  Close-ups of heads with sunken eyes and pallid complexions, boney thinness on already trim frames, fields of prickly rashes covering hills of hips and stomachs.  She shuffled through them with the thoroughness of a banker handling his biggest transaction.  Each picture had to be searched and compared, but she didn’t know what for.  Some common denominator, some similarity had to pop up.

 

The familiar whispy white prairie dog patronus blew into the room, settling on the bench beside her, the voice of their ward secretary lilting forth.

 

“Ms. Weasley, Mr. Potter is here to see you.  He says you have a lunch date.”

 

The ghostly apparition dissolved.  A quick glance at the clock revealed it was indeed past her usual lunch time.  Cautiously, she replaced the vial in the tray and carefully slipped it into the refrigerated drawer below her.  The photos and documents would get locked up securely in the hidden wall vault before she left.

 

Within minutes, she had cleared both protection spells in the lobby and greeted Harry with a quick kiss on the cheek.

 

“Penny for your thoughts.”  Harry asked, and Ginny realized she had been trailing off on Hermione once again.  “Or is it more like betcha a hundred galleons you’re thinking about Hermione right now.”

 

“You’d win that bet.”  She smirked.

 

Harry wrapped his arm around her shoulders, steering her toward the lifts.  “I know.  I’ve been thinking about her, too.”

 

Ginny leaned her head in to Harry’s shoulder as they stood in the lift and it jerked into motion.  She needed the comfort.  “I can’t seem to keep myself focused on my work and that’s not wise with what I’m dealing with.”

 

“You’ll just have to trust the healers to take care of Hermione.  There isn’t much any of us can do other than be with her.  Someone is bound to have a matching blood type.”

 

Stepping out of the lift, they turned to follow the corridor toward the hospital canteen.  Being as late as it was, there was little traffic in the hall, but Ginny still spoke quietly.  “Harry, there’s another possible cure.”

 

“There is?” he replied louder, his face lighting up with hope.

 

“Yes, but it has its drawbacks,” she whispered, encouraging him to follow suit.

 

Harry glanced around at her gesture, looking for any unwanted gossip-mongers before deciding the coast was clear and blurting out a response that sounded much more cavalier than intended.  “Well, anything has to be better than dying a slow death.”  

 

Her eyes thinned and darted to his with sobering intensity.  Ginny could clearly see Harry’s sudden remorse over the regrettable flippancy of his statement.

 

“Gin, I didn’t…”

 

“I know.”  A group of robe-clad officials walked past and Ginny smiled and nodded to them.

 

“So what’s this…?”

 

“Shhh,” she chided.

 

Harry gave her a surprised, but understanding look and they both got in line to grab some lunch.  A few minutes later they were seated in a quiet corner of the room, at least twenty feet from the nearest person.

 

This time Harry kept his voice low.  “So, what’s going on?  Why the hush-hush in the hall?”

 

“It’s just a very private matter,” Ginny offered, fidgeting with the crust of her sandwich.  “For Hermione, I mean.”  Harry didn’t speak, instead idly stirring his soup.  “Look…” she met Harry’s upturned eyes.  “I promised I wouldn’t tell Ron about this, but I really think he needs to know.”

 

Her knowing look spoke tomes, easily conveying the hidden agenda.  Obviously, she needed Harry to do what she had promised not to.  Harry’s somewhat lopsided smirk indicated his understanding of the game.  “Alright, Gin, spill the beans.”

 

Ginny quietly relayed the concept of the cure, at times hearing Harry drop his spoon as they shared a moment - both having lost their appetites.  Luckily, Ginny had had the opportunity of pulling the healer aside and getting more details about the potion and the side effects.  This cure, if it really was one, carried with it a lot of emotional and physical residue.

Fifteen minutes later, Ginny’s sandwich sat with only two bites carved out of its side and Harry’s soup had gone cold.  “Blimey,” was his only response.

 

*** 

 

John was surprised to find none of the locks engaged when he reached the door, especially since it was late at night.  With arms full, he kneed it open easily and stepped quietly into the flat.  Surveying the room, everything seemed as he had left it:  clean, neat and secure.  Except for the door.

 

Setting down the large container, he closed the entrance door and turned several of the locks before fishing in his pocket for the key to the spare bedroom. 

 

“Hermione?” he called out in his sweetest voice.  “Are you awake, babe?”

 

When he got no reply, he felt it safe to unlock the door and quickly slip the container inside, relocking it and slipping the key back in the safety of his pocket.  With his stash securely stowed, his next order of business was to check on his girlfriend.  He had to admit his own good taste.  Even without her magic, Hermione was still a beautiful creature and certainly capable of stirring his masculine desires.  Unfortunately, his long term quest often kept him from taking what he wanted physically.  At least, now that she couldn’t wield her wand in retaliation, he had a little better chance of having his way should the moment present itself.

 

Limping softly toward her bedroom door, he tried to ignore the sore spot on his leg.  Ensuring the safety of his work sometimes meant getting hurt.  It was worth it.  Not surprising, Hermione’s bedroom door was unlocked as well and John considered he was going to have to secure it a bit better in the future.  It wouldn’t do well for his subjects to leave before the experiment was finished.  That had already happened once.

 

“Hermione?” he pushed the door open, hoping, maybe unrealistically, to find Hermione secure in her bed.  Lines of moonlight filtered through the bars on the window, revealing linens rumpled up on the mattress, but no Hermione.  “Dammit.”  He took a quick, furious glance in the bathroom and closet, finding nothing unusual.

 

John began a calculating review of his options.  First, he needed a good cover story, second, a way to track her down and, third, some help in getting her back.  Reaching into his hip pocket, he pulled out a folded piece of parchment and clicked on a lamp, reviewing the information in the letter.

 

  _John,_

_It’s been a long time!  I’m planning on being in the_ _London_ _area in the coming weeks and would love to see you.  My living arrangements have been somewhat sheltered in the past couple of years, but I’m planning on a change fairly soon._

_I’ve been traveling around_ _Europe_ _quite a bit lately, but I need a place to stay for a little while until I can find a new residence._ _I’d love to catch up on old times and see how you’re doing on your quest.  Maybe we can go out and meet some ladies for a little fun some evening._

_Send me a reply via owl if you can and let me know where you are.  If not, you can send something Muggle mail to the address below and I’ll come to you as soon as I receive it._

_Your Cousin,_

_Arty_

John smiled with satisfaction and walked to the nearby desk, searching for an envelope and some paper.  With a great deal of sordid enthusiasm, he scribbled out a reply and, after releasing the deadbolts and chains, limped down the stairs of the building and deposited his letter in the nearby red mailbox.  He’d have to settle for sending this the Muggle method, as he didn’t have any owls available at the moment.  They’d pick it up in the morning if Arty didn’t already have a ‘special’ way of knowing it was there.  

 

Contemplating the two flights of stairs before him, a slight rush of rage returned to heat the blood in his veins as he realized that having Hermione around would have given him the means to obtain an owl and a faster way to reach his suddenly-needed cousin.  In fact, keeping Hermione close gave him all kinds of advantages, opened up his world to far wider ranging possibilities.  And then, of course, her physical presence meant he could continue with his work, his passion, his quest for deliverance from a life of invisibility.

 

Trodding back up the stairs, John reviewed his goals.  He often did this in an effort to remain focused and purpose-filled.  With Hermione languishing as she was, weak and unable to perform magic, she had given him the ultimate test case, the perfect readily available sample, the before and after that he needed to finally determine the secret.  The best part, she slept through most everything.  To her, his middle of the night thievery was nothing but dreams.  He could easily convince her that those shadows in the night, watching her with a voyeur’s satisfaction, sampling her, were all just the delusions of her sick mind.  

 

It had been years and years of study and experimentation, but never had he come across such a perfect situation.  A strong Muggleborn witch, quite beautiful and easy to woo, then mysteriously and perfectly altered back to her pre-magical form.  And, even better, she was right here in his hometown which meant he could finally clear everything out of the hidden holes he had set up around Europe.

 

Having reached the flat and secured the doors, John slumped onto the sofa, his eyes flickering to the photo of Hermione, Harry and Ron.  Involuntarily, his lip curled in disgust as he viewed the picture.  There they were, the thorns in his side.  Harry was a bit more gullible and John could at least reason with him enough to keep the charade alive.  Ron, however, was the true enemy, the threat that he would have to deal with if he was going to keep the girl and more importantly, finish his work.  His charming powers of persuasion and logic weren’t working on the tall redhead anymore.  Physically, he couldn’t best the man and truly, didn’t want to.  Fighting had never been his strong suit.  For this, he’d have to call in some help and luckily, the help carried a wand.

 

He didn’t know enough about the magical world of London to go off searching for Hermione, but he knew his cousin would be able to give him a hand.  Now he just needed to get things ready and beef up the security a bit more if he was going to keep her here – he smiled - keep her safe and convince her to leave her magical world and face reality.

 

After having been up all night Friday and traveling most of Saturday, John dozed off, only to awaken in the middle of the night when he heard a knock at the door.  Wiping his eyes sleepily, he shuffled, still limping, to the door.  “Yeah?” he spoke loud enough for it to carry into the hall.

 

“Cousin?  Is that you?”

 

John’s eyes grew wide with excitement and he began unlatching the series of security measures, finally throwing the door open with abandon.

 

“Jack?”

 

“Arty!”

 

*** 

 

After trudging into his flat at a ridiculously late hour, Ron had fallen asleep in his clothes and remained unconscious to the world for the next twelve hours.  Now, at three in the afternoon, his head throbbed and his neck felt stiff, not the way he had hoped to wake.  Groaning, he rolled up and sat on the edge of the bed, his head resting in his hand as his brain pulsed nauseatingly against his skull. 

 

It hurt too much to even think about why he was feeling this way.  Of course, the possibilities seemed endless.  There was the fact that he had worked three very long days and two overnights, including a couple of jarringly long Portkey trips.  If that wasn’t enough, he had crashed into that tray of vials in Prague and spilled who knows what all over himself – although he had gone through the prescribed clean-up when he returned.  For the second time in a week, he had carried an unconscious Hermione, this time to the safety of her parents’ home before getting called back in on his supposed day off.  Then, if that hadn’t been enough to do him in, he had to share his worries with a bottle of Ogden’s after getting off work.

 

Gripping the bed frame, he stood up and checked his balance, sure that the last of his mistakes was the cause of this mid-day headache.  Dragging himself to the bathroom, he didn’t bother looking in the truth-be-telling mirror and braced himself on the wall behind the toilet as he relieved himself of the processed booze.  Trying not to fully open his eyes for fear of an even stronger ache, he reached in the shower and turned the knob.  Perhaps some hot water might relieve the ache in his neck and, in turn, reduce his headache enough for him to make or acquire some hangover potion from his sister.  He’d have to visit Ginny and beg for mercy.

 

Peeling off his dirty clothes, he stepped under the spray, the water soaking his head and trailing down his long nose with soothing heat.  He sighed as the rejuvenating warmth flowed down his spine, over his hips, trickling into the valleys of his sculpted legs, seeping slowly into his skin.  With this much pain in his head, it seemed unlikely any other thoughts would have room to form, but as with most mornings, a vision of Hermione popped into his thoughts.  Part of the reason for his drinking spree had been the fact that he had spent a good portion of the evening contemplating his future.  He nearly drank himself into agreement on the topic of that leave of absence.  At least temporarily.  Kingsley had agreed to give him the leave if he wanted it, but without pay. 

Unlike Harry, whose parents had bequeathed him a small fortune, Ron had to rely on his own hard work and frugal attitude to keep himself afloat.  Luckily, he had banked a small cushion of savings and had already set his mind on the merits of using it to spend more time helping Hermione.  However, now, with Hermione safely stowed with her parents, he debated the value of such a move.  Any doubts, practical or emotional, were brewed from his own sluggish confidence.  

 

Stepping out of the shower, he quickly toweled off and shuffled back into his bedroom to find something clean to where.  He hadn’t been home enough lately to actually launder anything and dumping it on his mother seemed wholly unfair, but he was down to his last pair of boxers.  Maybe, in some alternate universe, he could convince Ginny to help.

 

  _Ron_ _, you need to do something really nice for that sister of yours._

Scooping up the piles of discarded clothing on the floor, Ron found his hand wrapped around a hot pink bra strap and realized its owner – Diane.

At some point in every young man’s life there comes a time when the insecurities of youth take a step back to make room for the convictions of manhood.  Ron stared at the pink lingerie in his hand, knowing full well how out of place it felt and for whatever reason his thoughts flashed to Christmas several years before.  It was the last time he had spent any real quality time with Hermione as they sat at her parent’s home watching Christmas specials on the telly.  Except that it wasn’t the telly Ron was watching.  Instead, it was the sparkle in Hermione’s eyes and the lilt in her laugh as she watched a show about a green, grumpy, rodent-looking character whose heart grew five times its normal size just in time to celebrate the holiday.

 

Perhaps he was in his own fairytale or maybe the real Ron was emerging, growing five times its normal rate just in time to make a difference.  The doubts and snickers of boyhood seemed wholly unappealing, childish, immature and Ron almost laughed at the absurdity of it all.  No, this pink lacy thing in his hand should be white, delicate and for a smaller woman.  It should belong to a beautiful, brilliant brunette who had stolen his heart years before.  Ron’s universe had skidded off course at some point, but it was time to pull out the map and find his way.

 

“Oh, hell, this has got to end.”

 

Stuffing the rest of the laundry into an empty pillow case, he threw it over his shoulder and marched down the hall.  Operating in a hungover state of frustration, the bag of dirty laundry had become his source of evidence to the cause, ensconced firmly in his grip through space.  

 

Within minutes he was standing dumb-struck in the kitchen of Harry’s home, said owner and his sister both glaring at him from the counter which, according to Ron’s flushed cheeks, had just been the site of an afternoon tryst.  

 

“Bloody hell, you two!  In the kitchen?  That’s my sister!”  Ron dropped his pillowcase, grimy fabric tumbling out the side as he looked away in disgust.

 

Harry, shirtless and clearly tussled, had the decency to look ashamed and slowly withdrew his hand from the underside of Ginny’s skirt, but his sister reacted as expected.

 

“It’s Harry’s kitchen, Ronald!  If you don’t want to see this, then you shouldn’t be popping in without knocking first.”  She slipped off the edge of the counter, smoothed down her skirt and planted a frustrated fist on her hip as if the entire incident had no reason for alarm on her end.

 

“I’m sorry, alright?  I have a lot on my mind.  Besides, it’s not like you two are married.  You don’t live here.”

 

“But we do have sex here, repeatedly.  So, get over it!”  Ginny glanced down at the pink bra and other items that had fallen out onto her kitchen floor before glancing at Harry who cleared his throat quite uncomfortably while trying to avoid Ron’s glare.

 

“Well, I think I’ll just um…go,” Harry mumbled.  He glanced back at Ginny pleadingly before rubbing the back of his head, snatching up his discarded shirt and shuffling out of the room.

 

Ginny’s foot began to tap, staring at her brother and his stack of dingy skivvies.  “Don’t look at me.  I’m not the maid service around here.”

 

Ron glanced down, finally realizing the implication the sack of clothing had on his sister.  “I know.  I didn’t come looking for maid service, but could I please get some hangover potion?”

 

“What for?”

 

“Well, obviously for the splitting headache that’s wracking my brain at the moment.”  He bent down to pick up the items and stuff them back in the pillowcase, his body forcing him back to vertical with a woozy moan.  Ginny finally huffed and started hunting in her pantry.

 

She marched over to him, spinning him around and pushing him through the kitchen door and across a long hardwood hallway into a room that Ron liked to refer to as the den.  It looked like a cross between a library, an office and a sitting room and he very much liked the large burgundy suede sofa that had been his resting spot on many visits prior.

 

With a couple of firm nudges, Ron was seated on the sofa and Ginny pushed a small brown bottle toward him with an irksome expression and a great deal of irritation.  “Drink, all of it.  Then I want you to tell me why you’ve shown up at three in the afternoon, hungover, carrying laundry that contains a pink bra and looking nearly as miserable as Hermione.”

 

The instant relief of the potion was only eclipsed by his sister’s mention of the reason for all his woes.  She pulled a nearby leather chair up in front of the sofa and sat down, her features softening to radiate concern for her brother.

 

Ron struggled for what seemed like minutes, catching his sister’s eye for a second, but looking away uncomfortably as he tried to start a sentence.  His world, once passing time in its usual manner had somehow suffered the force of a ruthless blow that left it spinning years ahead of schedule.  The sudden lack of time only exacerbated the symptoms of confusion and loss that were overwhelming his life.  How to start.  After several intakes of breath, but no words, Ginny seemed to be getting frustrated.

 

“For Merlin’s sake, Ronald, what is it?”

 

“I’m sorry, I just don’t know where to begin.”

 

“Let’s begin with the pink bra.  I’m fairly certain it doesn’t belong to you.”

 

“It’s Diane’s.”  At least that was a matter of fact and didn’t require emotional involvement.

 

“And why are Diane’s undergarments in your laundry?”  Harry popped his head around the corner, taunting Ginny with a garish ‘do you really want to ask that question’ look.  She fanned him away and turned her attention back to a still quasi-comatose Ron.  “What I mean is that I wasn’t aware of the fact that you two were that close.”

 

“We’re not!” Ron countered, his eyes nearly flashing with defiance.  Ginny, who had now settled in resting her chin and cheek on her fist, simply arched a curious eyebrow.

 

“Ginny…look I know that your work is important to you.”

 

“My work?  What does a pink bra have to do with my work?”

 

“Would you let me finish?”  Ginny rolled her eyes, but remained quiet.  “Last week when you wanted Harry and I to play up to Judge Randolph…well, I had no idea that Diane was his daughter.   I went along with it, for your sake, but…well…I just can’t keep doing this.”

 

“This?”  Ginny repeated, still looking confused, but lovingly at Ron.  

 

“Yes, this!  I can’t keep living this way.  It’s ripping me apart seeing the way she looks at me and…”

 

“How does Diane look at you?” Ginny asked, still not clear on what Ron was trying to relay.

 

“No!  Hermione!  I could give a rat’s arse about Diane, but she’s somehow managed to wiggle her way into my life and now she’s got her dad giving you money and if I leave her then you’re screwed and I’m…”

 

She got up and moved to sit beside him on the sofa as Ron cradled his head in his palms.  “I have a sneaking suspicion that Diane is the least of your troubles, am I right?”

 

He nodded, unable or unwilling to meet her gaze.

 

“I don’t think this is about Diane.  It’s about Hermione, isn’t it?”  She gently rubbed his back and he nodded in response.

 

“You’re right in one sense.  My work is important, but not just for me.  What I’m working on may very well impact hundreds or thousands of lives, if I’m able to figure out a cure.”

 

“I realize that, Ginny, and I don’t want to jeopardize anything…”

 

“I have to admit that there’s a part of me that’s selfish just enough to beg you to do anything that will keep our funding.”

 

“Gin…” Harry called from the next room.

 

“I know…I know…” she replied hurriedly.

 

“What?” Ron asked, finally looking up.

 

“I was getting to that part,” she called out just loud enough for Harry to hear in the other room.  “Harry is trying to gently remind me of the fact that he offered to use his own money to keep the department going, but that’s just Harry.”

 

“Oh, well that really helps my dilemma.”

 

“As much as I hate the idea of asking Harry to help me keep my job, I’m not so heartless as to force you to suck up to some bimbo’s father at the expense of your own feelings!”

 

“It’s not even my feelings that I’m worried about.  Did you see Hermione look at me in the hall the other day?”

 

“Afraid not, but I can certainly imagine.”

 

“I-I feel like the biggest traitor in the world.  Not only did I let her go off to school without me, but I was foolish and lazy enough to think that she’d be back with open arms, ready to just pick up where we left off.  I took her friendship for granted and in the process I’ve lost that friendship and…”

 

“I don’t think you have.”

 

“Are you kidding?  She’s living with that git!  It happened just like I always imagined it would.  The smartest witch in school went off and found a nice smart guy to shack up with and make genius babies!”

 

“What?”  Ginny smacked his arm hard enough that he recoiled.  “How can you say something like that?  You’ve known Hermione for a long time and you know that she isn’t that shallow.”

 

“I’m not laying blame on Hermione, Gin.  This is my fault.  I realize that, but I just don’t know how to fix it.  If I _can_ fix it.  If there’s time to fix it.  I mean, this is far beyond my hurt feelings or her hurt feelings or some arse that’s camped out in her flat.  She is really sick and it’s just tearing me up seeing her this way and…knowing I’m not the one…” He paused and swallowed with great difficulty “…that she’s counting on.  I should be the one she relies on to help her and I’ve let her down…”

 

Ron’s eyes glazed over as his head sunk back into his hands.

 

“You still love her?” she asked, plain and simple, although it was apparent this wasn’t a question so much as a long awaited acknowledgement.

 

He exhaled with a stutter before finally looking up, his eyes radiating pure anguish.  “I don’t want her to die.”

 

“None of us do, Ron.”

 

“No.”  He sniffed.  “You don’t understand.  I-I just can’t imagine this life without her.  Even if she ends up with some other bloke and I never see her again, I just can’t sit here and do nothing while she withers away.”  His shoulders hunched over even further.  

 

“Well, that’s easy to fix.”

 

“It may seem easy to you.  You don’t have to face that fuckwad boyfriend of hers and realize that he’s taken your place in her life.  You’re still her best friend.  I’ve been reduced to an acquaintance…an old school mate who used to mean something to her, but is now making a fool of himself.  Did you see how hurt she looked when I tried to curse what’s his name?”

 

“Well, I’d probably feel the same if you tried to curse my boyfriend.”

 

“But he’s a liar and…well…he’s probably cheating on her or abusing her or Merlin knows what.  Harry and I caught him in a lie.”

 

“I believe you.”

 

“You do?”

 

“Well, of course.  You think I’d believe some stranger over my own brother?”

 

Ron met her eyes ashamedly, but they appeared just a bit brighter blue.  “No…so, anyway, it’s been nagging on me and I finally tried to drown my sorrows in a bottle and that’s why I need the hangover potion.  Thanks by the way, at least my head feels a bit better.”

 

“So, that still doesn’t explain the laundry.”

 

“I just saw that pink thing on the floor this morning and it just made me crazy!  I finally realized that I have to do something about it.  She won’t leave me alone.  She showed up in my bathroom the other night and proceeded to strip!”

 

Harry’s head made a quick reappearance.  “She what?”

 

Ginny chose the exact same moment to vent her own brand of disgust.  “Too much information!  This sounds like boy talk to me.”  In just a few steps she scurried out of the room, Harry taking her place as the sound of clattering pots and pans camouflaged the discussion.  

 

“Well, she did.  I’m standing there in all my glory and she just marches in and tries to have her way with me!”

 

“Wow.”  Harry looked stunned for a moment, but quickly continued the conversation.  “So, what did you do?”

 

“It was a little late to do anything.  She kind of appeared at the precise moment of…you know.”

 

“Ooo.  So, I guess she’s pretty hot, then?  I mean if that’s all it took for you to…” Harry offered the universal signal for a bloke’s favorite shower pastime.

 

“I wasn’t thinking of _her_ , you pervert.”

 

Harry stared at him blankly for a couple of seconds before the invisible light bulb flashed on over his head.  “Oh…no.  Look who’s calling the cauldron black.  Geez Ron, Hermione’s sick and you’re…”

 

“I didn’t mean to.  It’s just that I’m thinking about her all the time and after what happened yesterday at the office.  I mean…I know she’s in a bad way, but it doesn’t stop my feelings for her.”

 

With an air of determination, Ron stood up and paced toward the mantle of the nearby hearth.

 

“Actually, I’m glad to hear that,” said Harry.

 

Ron glanced at him, blankly, but certainly waiting for Harry to fill in the details.  

 

“When we were coming back from Budapest on the plane…she was really panicked.  But do you know what had her worried the most?”

 

Ron shook his head.

 

“She thought you wouldn’t want her around anymore if she wasn’t a witch.”  Harry gave Ron a moment to absorb that bit of information before continuing.  “John wasn’t even in the conversation…it was all about you.”

 

“Yeah?” Ron brightened.

 

“Hermione needs her friends right now.  If this is how you really feel about her, you’ve got to tell her before it’s too late.”

 

“How do you know it isn’t _already_ too late?”  Ron crossed his arms over his chest.

 

“Ron…as much as I hate to even suggest it, Hermione’s time with us may be short, but that doesn’t mean that the time that’s left should be worthless.”  

 

The truth in that statement stung Ron as surely as a hundred thousand bees.  His eyes burned with unshed tears as he stared at Harry, the crease in his forehead growing.

 

Harry obviously noticed the impact, but continued, struggling himself to relay the news.  “Ginny said that there were studies done where patients healed miraculously when they had someone that loved them, supported them, someone who was there everyday trying to cheer them up.  Prayers, love and friendship can be a mighty drug.  I think that’s all we can do right now, but it’s worth a shot, isn’t it?  We need to be her support network.”

 

Ron nodded, hastily wiping the back of his hand over his cheek.  “You’re absolutely right, Harry.”

 


	13. Chapter 13 - Getting Her Back

  
Author's notes: This is a long one, enjoy!  Thanks Indie and Missgranger2.  Love you both!  And thanks to everyone reviewing.  I read everyone and am so grateful for all your comments!  


* * *

Chapter 13 – Getting Her Back

 

Ron left Harry’s house with a renewed sense of purpose in his stride.  With the path to his future clear, Ron was anxious to begin the journey.  The pink bra, once a symbol of disdain now sat stuffed in his pocket, a token reminder of his mission.  Different conversations began to formulate in his head, none of them malicious or hateful, but he couldn’t help the twinges of frustration that seemed to creep into each practiced soliloquy.  So lost was Ron in his thoughts that he barely noticed the change over from the flat concrete walk to the carefully placed stones that formed the walkway along the front of Judge Randolph’s London home.  It was nearly the size of Harry’s and clearly not lacking in splendor.

 

The lawn was finely manicured, hedge roses on either side of the wrought iron gate that sat locked to outside visitors.  It made sense that a judge on the Wizengamot would want an extra measure of security, even the non-magical kind.  Before he could even determine how to approach getting in, a light and airy voice spoke from the decorative lion’s head on the gate.

 

“State your name and your business.”

 

“I’m Ron Weasley and I’m here to see Diane.”

 

“Enter,” the feminine voice spoke and the gate’s latch lifted, the wings of the massive entrance way creaking inward.  The expansive, bright, green grounds resembled a carpet around the home and for a second Ron, once again, felt quite out of place, wondering how a girl with this kind of wealth would even want someone like him.  As usual, his own demons teetered between a lack of self worth and genuine disdain for the lifestyle.  Maybe it was growing up in such a humble home that had tarnished his views on opulence and society.  He was perfectly content, in fact, happy to live a quiet, simple life, catering less to wealth and property and more to the love of family.  

 

Ron noticed a wooden park bench nestled amongst some holly and rose bushes, a bit away from the house, a similarly patterned stone path winding up to it.  And before he knew it, Diane was smiling at the door and he asked her to join him on the bench.

 

“Oh, Ronald, I’m just so surprised to see you!”

 

“I’m sorry to come to your home like this, but we need to talk and I just couldn’t wait a minute longer.”

 

Diane giggled with such excitement that it seemed she was shaking inside her own skin.  Ron wasn’t sure what his statement could have meant to her, but he knew that in a few moments she wouldn’t be giggling anymore.  Gesturing toward the bench, he allowed her to go first and sit down.  She almost bounced, her hands cupped over her knees as the summer breeze blew gently across her light pink skirt.  Ron took one last look at her face before turning his eyes away and settling beside her, the pink bra poking into his hip.

 

Clearing his throat to mask the movement, he slipped his hand in his denim pocket and pulled out the garment and held it out for her.

 

“Um…you left this at my flat.  I didn’t want to hand it to you in your home where your parents might see it.”

 

The smiled on her face morphed into some kind of bewildered shock for the briefest of seconds, but she carefully took the item and folded it into her lap.  “Oh…well…thank you, Ronald.  You could have just left it there.  I would have picked it up soon.”

 

“Yeah…well…that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

 

Again, Diane began that incessantly childlike bouncing, her long hair flipping joyously as she flashed an annoyingly white smile at him.  “Yes?”

 

Ron pulled his previously rehearsed script to the front of his brain.  “I realize that it was my idea to give you my Floo address, and…”

 

“Yes and I’ll be forever grateful for that.”

 

“Um…yeah…well, w-what I’m trying to say is that my flat is…well, I’ve worked hard to get a place of my own and it’s not that I don’t appreciate you coming over to cook and…”

 

“Oh, I love to do all that for you Ronald.  I promise to cook for you all the time.”

 

Ron’s brows curled in with confusion as he tried to separate out his own thoughts from the reverse angle she was inflicting on them.  “I don’t want you to cook for me all the time, Diane.”

 

Her voice suddenly grew an octave.  “Oh, Ronald that is SO sweet of you!  I’d love to have a live-in chef, but if the maid service is too much, then I could certainly handle the cooking.  I mean, there are all the social events and of course we’ll have charitable opportunities that father will insist we help with, but of course, after your name is announced, the contributors will probably trip over themselves trying to give money.”

 

“W-what are you talking about?”  Ron looked something akin to a deer in the headlights.

 

“Well, you know that my father is a well known philanthropist and head of the Amethyst Robes Order and they do such great works for the children.”

 

A mixture of unpronounceable frustration and blatant confusion urged him to stand and put both hands on her shoulders.  He just needed her to sit still and stop talking and allow him to get out what he had come here to say.  She craned her long, white neck up toward him, her eyes blinking rapidly as the sun glared into them and without thinking he dropped down on his knee in front of her, hoping to stop her squinting and get her to look him squarely in the eye, his hands still holding her firmly by the biceps.

 

“Oh, Ronald!!” she nearly screamed, her eyes beginning to tear up.

 

Ron braced himself, sure that she was finally starting to grasp what he had come here to say.  He was prepared for anything.  She might cry or scream or pound on him, but either way, he had to say what he had come here for.  “Diane, now listen to me.  This is important.  I want you to understand how I feel.”

 

“Oh, I know how you feel.  I feel the same way!  I knew this was coming.  I know it’s been fast, but it just feels so right!  Yes, yes, yes, Ronald.  I’ll marry you!  You don’t even have to ask!”  She placed her hands on his cheeks and began kissing his face.  Ron jerked back, more from the word ‘marry’ than from the streaming series of kisses.  Suddenly, his position in front of her, the knee on the ground, it all painted a most awkward and unintentional picture in Ron’s mind.

 

  _Oh, fuck,_ _Ron_ _, what the hell are you doing?_  

“Diane, stop!”  He shook her.  Perhaps a bit too hard, for she grimaced slightly and he immediately loosened his grip, swallowing down another lump of regret.  Guilty images of her dripping in gravy flashed back through his thoughts again.  “I’m sorry.”  His words were soft, quite opposite the flashing blue intensity in his eyes.

 

At least it had caught her attention, for she nodded her acknowledgement.  The previously carefree smile had taken on a more serious looking glare.  Ron could almost hear her misconstrued thoughts, the ‘be obedient to your husband’ purse of her lips, and he desperately tried to reorder his own monologue. 

 

“Diane…” He wanted to soften this, but knew it had to come out hard.  “I do not want to marry you.  This is not a proposal.  Do you understand?”

 

Blank turned to confused which turned to numbly vacant.  “What?”  At least she spoke.

 

“I came here today to explain to you that I can’t see you anymore.”

 

“But I don’t understand…” As expected, her lower lip started a slow sojourn away from her mouth, a slight tremble adding to the impact.

 

“I know you don’t, that’s why I came here.”  At this point in the speech he was going to explain how giving her his address was the mistake of a drunken man, but the cruelty in that statement made him stop and change course.  “You’re a wonderful girl, Diane, but you have much deeper feelings for me than I do for you.”

 

“We can work on that…”

 

“No, we can’t.  Look, you’re very pretty and…” he stopped himself, unable to utter another compliment knowing it would be a lie.  She wasn’t smart, she wasn’t all that kind – except to him and she wasn’t funny.  “I’m sure you’ll find someone who can truly appreciate all your fine qualities.”

 

“Is it someone else?” she asked, a very pronounced pout on her face.

 

Ron knew the answer, but debated on the value of sharing that information.  Was she spiteful enough to take some kind of revenge?  Maybe she’d just slap him and be done with it.  His silence must have triggered her own conclusions.

 

“It’s that Hermione girl, isn’t it?”  The childish pucker on her lips kept drawing his eye.

 

The ‘yes’ almost slipped out, but he stopped himself.  “No, it’s just me.  I’m just not ready for a serious relationship.”  Maybe that would do it.

 

“Oh…well, that’s alright.  We can just take a step back.  Go out on dates and…”

 

“No, Diane.  I think it’s much better if we just make a clean break.  Start fresh, you know?”

 

Ron felt weeks’ worth of tension flow out of him as he finally ended it, but Diane’s eyes quickly watered up. 

 

  _God, you’re such a louse._

“I’m sorry, Diane.  I really am.”

 

“No you’re not!” She wailed and bolted up, Ron tipping back and landing on the stone walkway as she ran toward the house.  Watching her slam the large wooden door, Ron released a quite audible breath, turning his legs in to sit Indian style on the hard stone.  Somehow it felt befitting that the lowest of beings remain on the ground, joining the beetles and the ants and all other creatures who didn’t have the sense to stand up and take charge.

 

Shaking his head, Ron finally stood and brushed off his denims.  It seemed wholly unfair that one girl should have to suffer so that another would not.  Actually, both of them would end up suffering and both due to his own infantile lack of courage or fortitude or whatever you would call this whimpering inability to say what he felt.  At least he was now on the right path.  Hermione was to become his mission, a long fought-for destination and caring for her, standing by her and doing whatever was necessary to convince her of his feelings – that would be the journey.  One that he finally felt ready to take, even if it required months of labor, trekking through the darkest spider-filled forests or the steepest jagged terrain.

 

Only her survival mattered, no matter what state she found herself in at the end.  He walked faster, not even noticing the gate open for him on the way out.  The plan was finally clear.  He would have to prove not only to her that she was worth any kind of life - Muggle or magical – but he had a massive chip to brush off his own shoulder and a boyfriend to remove from the equation.  Ron was shocked to realize that he had no fear of living a Muggle life, if it included her.  He would gladly spend hours reading to her, taking walks, learning to drive an auto so that he could take her on Sunday picnics.  Just to be with her, to talk to her and touch her, he’d do whatever was necessary.

 

Not that he was giving up hope for a cure.  Of anyone in Hermione’s life, he probably knew best of her deep love for magic.  Hours upon hours he watched her study, practice and do her best to pull him along for the ride in achieving their goals.  If she wanted to live magically even if it were one sided, he’d do that as well.  Anything.  Whatever she needed.

 

For some reason the air felt much fresher, the sky shimmered its bluest hue ever, even the birds chirped brighter than Ron could ever recall.  It was a new day for him and he intended on making a new day for her, too.

 

Time blurred, as did the sidewalk, and Ron found himself standing in front of Mr. and Mrs. Granger’s home, smiling at the beginnings of his new self.  He nearly jogged up the walk and rocked on his heels as he pressed the doorbell, beyond excited at the prospect of exploring this new life and a giving Hermione new hope.

 

Instead of being greeted by Mrs. Granger’s welcoming face, the door clicked as if the latch hadn’t completely filled the switch plate and it swung open a few inches.  Ron raised his eyebrows and gently pushed it open, calling out to the house’s inhabitants.

 

“Hello?”

 

It only took one glance and Ron’s heart plummeted into his stomach.  A large burn mark scored the striped wallpaper in the foyer.  Hardened from battle, Ron recognized spell damage easily.  With a massive rush of adrenaline, he drew his wand and pressed the door open with his cautious Auror reflexes taking control.  With one heart-swelling thought of Hermione, he released his patronus and instructed it to find Harry and bring help.  Cautiously, he stepped to the right and assured himself that the living room contained no threats, thus giving him some small sense of protection at his back.

 

As quietly as possible, he re-latched the door and silently sealed it with a quick tap of his wand.  Part of the banister was broken as if a foot had kicked it loose.  It was clear someone had struggled.  Pictures hung tilted on the walls, a wicker basket that once held umbrellas lie on its side.  Even though he knew Hermione had been resting upstairs, he had to check the lower level first.  Keeping his back to the wall and his senses tuned, he approached the doorway to the dining room and looked in.  Undisturbed.

 

Three more steps and he entered the kitchen.  Hermione had obviously inherited her mother’s cleaning skills, for the kitchen usually gleamed.  However, at the moment a large pool of pasta swam on the floor, the pot it had rested in toppled upside down on the tile.  Bright orange coils glowed from the still burning stovetop and Ron quickly spun the dial to turn it off.  

 

A soft moan drew Ron’s focus and he darted quickly around the counter top, finally spotting a pair of high-heeled shoes sticking out from behind the dinette table.  Again, he pointedly checked the room for intruders before darting to Mrs. Granger’s side.  A small patch of dried blood had left its mark on her forehead, and it was clear that whatever the cause had been inflicted some time ago.

 

“Mrs. Granger, are you alright?”  Kneeling beside her, he ran a simple healing charm over her head before realizing it probably wouldn’t do any good this late.  

 

Her usually perfect hair was tousled, her blouse missing a button as she tried to sit up, a hand cradling the tender spot on her head.  Ron wrapped his arm around her back and tried to help her up, but when she swooned on the spot, he opted to just lean her against the kitchen cabinet instead.

 

“Ronald?”

 

“What happened?”

 

“Oh, Ronald.  I think they took her.”  She cried, her own blood-covered hand blending with the tears as she wiped her face.

 

Ron’s heart immediately took off on a race.  “Who took her?” 

 

“I don’t know.  He had a wand.  One of those bad wizards you told us about.  Richard tried to stop him.”  Now she was panicking as well, her husband’s condition in question.

 

“Where was he?”

 

“Upstairs I think.”  

 

“Stay here.  I’m going to go check.  Harry’s on his way.”

 

She nodded, still crying, but appearing as if she was quite sleepy.

 

“You need to stay awake, alright?  I’ll be right back.”  Tracing his path in reverse, he made his way back through the foyer to the front stairs and keeping his spine against the wall, stepped up the first few risers.  The steps creaked and he winced, hoping it wouldn’t give him away.  He doubted anyone was still in the house, but if they were, he was really going to need some element of surprise.  Either that, or an army of Aurors.  Or Harry.

 

Sliding along the wall, he brushed past another still smoking burn mark in the plaster.  His heart had never thundered so hard in his life.  Every muscle twitched, every nerve on end as he climbed the last few stairs.  Hermione’s room was just to his right, but he knew that running in there without checking his back would be suicide.  So, with a quick but cautious glance, he poked his head in the room on the left and then closed and sealed the door.  

 

Hearing nothing but silence, Ron finally stepped into Hermione’s room.  The once pink and delicate walls now sported a rather large hole.  The bookcase lay overturned with a library of choices scattered on the floor.  “Holy fuck, “ Ron muttered, scanning the devastation and finally spotting a sprawled out Mr. Granger on the other side of Hermione’s bed, a lamp still in his slackened grip as if he had attempted to use it as a weapon.  The bed linens were rumpled but no Hermione rested on them anymore.

 

“Mr. Granger…Mr. Granger…”  Ron rushed to his side.  

 

He heard a loud crack and glanced out the window to see Harry, Robert and two other Aurors appear on the lawn.  Harry bounded up the walk and Ron rushed out of the room and down the steps to release the seal on the door.

 

Harry with Robert right behind him burst through the door, wands drawn.

 

“Ron, what happened?”

 

“The Grangers are both down.  They need medical help.  The house looks clear.  A wizard broke in and took Hermione.  I don’t know who.”  Ron’s voice shook with undisguised panic, hoping that somehow Harry would have an idea of what to do next.  His own emotions seemed to overtake his reason when it came to Hermione’s well-being.

 

“Where are they?”  Harry asked.

 

“Mrs. Granger’s in the kitchen.”  He pointed and Robert took off.  “Mr. Granger is out cold up in Hermione’s bedroom.”  Harry nodded and the other two Aurors climbed the stairs.

 

“We’ve got to find her,” Ron blurted, his jaw tense as he stared at his partner.

 

“Hold on, mate.  We will. We’ll find her, but we need to get some information.”

 

With a pause, Ron led the way toward the kitchen.  “Mrs. Granger is awake, but it looks like she got hit on the head.”  Robert had an arm around Mrs. Granger helping her into a chair.

 

“Robert, get some ice.”  Harry commanded and Robert headed to the freezer.  Ron crouched down in front of her, his tone urgent but kind.

 

“Mrs. Granger, please…can you describe the man that took Hermione.”

 

She appeared dazed, but met Ron’s eyes.  “Um…he was thin, tall…kind of gangly looking.”

 

“Did he say anything?  Something that might indicate why he wanted Hermione or where he was taking her?”  Harry pulled up another chair just as Robert returned with a wash cloth filled with ice.  Ron took it from him and gently held it on her forehead.

 

“I was in the kitchen making lunch and there was this loud bang.  It sounded like the front door flew right off its hinges!  And then I heard this voice and I think he said something like ‘where’s the squib’ if that makes any sense.”

 

Harry’s eyes darted to Ron’s and back to Mrs. Granger.  “Yes, ma’am that makes perfect sense.  Then what happened.”

 

“Well, um…a lot happened at once.  I turned and this man came barreling into the kitchen and I heard footsteps running up the stairs and then screaming.”  She winced and sucked in a breath as Ron moved the ice.

 

“I’m sorry he hurt you.”  Ron’s eyebrows pressed together with deep concern.

 

“You’ve got to find her,” she reiterated, reaching a hand up to squeeze Ron’s shoulder.

 

“We will.  What else happened?  Did the man say anything else?”  

 

 “He said ‘oh, this is going to be too easy’ and then he…well, he smiled, but it was kind of disturbing and he tipped his head and just said ‘we’ve come for your daughter’ and then this flash of light came from the end of his…his wand thing and I just remember dropping the pot of spaghetti and running for the back door.  I heard a voice upstairs yell ‘I’ve got her’ and that’s all I remember.”

 

Another, much deeper, voice spoke from the doorway.  “He said that he had come to return her to her rightful owner.”  Ron, Harry and Robert all looked up to find Mr. Granger, flanked by the two Aurors in the doorway holding his ribcage with one hand and another braced against the door frame.

 

“Richard?”  Mrs. Granger tried to get up, obviously concerned for her husband, but she wavered again and Ron caught her and settled her back into the chair.

 

“I’m alright, Helen.”

 

“I think he may have cracked a rib, but I ran a Healing Charm on him,” the tallest of the two Aurors spoke.

 

“Thanks, Godfrey.  Why don’t you see about getting them some Muggle medical help?”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

“We’ll be fine, but we have to get our daughter back,” Mr. Granger insisted, stepping tentatively into the kitchen and kneeling in front of his wife to stroke the side of her face.

 

“Are you alright, darling?” he asked and she nodded.

 

“There was another man with him.” Mr. Granger continued, turning his attention to Harry and Ron.  “Brown hair, kind of average.  He pushed his way into the room and said ‘there you are’ as if he had been looking every where for her.  Then he said ‘you don’t belong here’ and he marched over to the bed and tried to scoop her up.  I asked him what he was doing and put a hand on his arm to stop him, but he turned around and said ‘back off old man, she belongs to me.’  Then there was this loud crack and suddenly this stringy looking creature appeared right behind me.  Black cape kind of thing, shoulder-length black hair, scruffy looking and a stupid looking smirk on his face.  I think he was missing a tooth.  He had one of your wands.  I picked up the lamp from the bedside table and was about to swing it at him when he flicked his wand at me and…well, that’s all I remember.”

 

“You’re very lucky, Mr. Granger.  Looks like he just Stunned you and your wife.  He could have done much worse,” Harry explained.

 

“Harry, you don’t think it could have been John, do you?” Ron asked.

 

“He’s not a wizard.”

 

“I mean the other guy.  He could have had help.  The description matches and well…I wouldn’t put it past the bastard.”

 

“But where would he take her?”

 

Auror Godfrey appeared in the doorway again.  “Lieutenant Potter?  A Muggle ambulance will be here shortly and Colonel Shacklebolt said to tell you that we should follow typical protocol and clear out.”

 

“Thanks, Godfrey.  Take care of the burn marks, make the bed up in Hermione’s room, but leave the rest and then go.”  The two men left to do as ordered.  Harry turned back to Mr. and Mrs. Granger.  “We have to leave, but the police and an ambulance will be here in a minute.  Just tell them that you had a break in.  You don’t need to mention Hermione for now.  We’ll take care of getting her back.  This is a Ministry matter.  The London authorities won’t be able to help so it’s best not to include them at this point.”  A siren could be heard in the distance.  Robert and the other two Aurors stepped back a few feet and within a second they twisted on the spot and Disapparated.

 

Mrs. Granger kind of squeaked in surprise.  “Oh, I’ll never get used to that.”

 

Ron stepped forward.  “I promise we’ll find her, Mr. and Mrs. Granger.  I won’t let anything happen to her.  You have my word.”

 

“Thank you Ronald.  You too, Harry.”

 

Mr. Granger took over holding the ice on his wife’s head as Ron stepped back and he and Harry Disapparated.

 

*** 

 

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open, but instead of the expected pink walls, a pair of ink black eyes hovered over her.  She struggled to keep them in focus, but it was like having lead weights attached to her eyelids and she sunk back into the pillow.

 

“So, this is the famous Hermione Granger, huh?” a rather raspy and cold voice spoke on her right.

 

“Famous?”  John’s voice added into the mix on her left.

 

“Yeah, you mean you don’t know the story of the famous trio?”

 

Hermione squeezed her eyes and blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the man standing before her, but no matter what she did, he remained a blur.  Suddenly her arm was being lifted by a pair of warm hands and something wet and cool wiped along the inside of her elbow.  With her vision refusing to cooperate, it was hard to determine what was going on so she tried to at least listen.

 

“Famous trio?  No.  Tell me.”

 

A sharp sting caused her to suck in a breath and she looked to the cause, finding a rather large needle pushed into the vein on her arm, her own blurry dark red blood flowing out into some kind of vial.  “What are you doing?” she asked, breathy and weak.

 

“You’re just having another bad dream babe.  Go back to sleep.”

 

But Hermione knew this was no dream.  The pain was very real and she focused all her energy into pulling her arm back, her other hand reaching blindly toward the hand that held her, legs squirming at the bed sheets.

 

“Hold her still.” John ordered, pressing his other hand to her forearm and exchanging vials for a new one.

 

“Certainly, Cuz.”  The other man seemed to have no qualms with climbing on top of her,  a creepy look of glee on his face.  A scaly hand gripped her wrist painfully and pressed it back against the mattress.  “Drain all of her filthy blood if you want it.  She was the only one in the trio without any real magical blood anyway.”

 

“But she was a witch.  She had to have magical blood.  Why would you say it’s filthy?”

 

The fear pounded through her and she shook with each intake of breath.  The foul stench from his curled and cracked lips blew across her face.  “She’s a Muggleborn, a Mudblood, dirty blood.”

 

“So, what does that make me?” he asked with an accusatory tone, pulling the second vial off and quickly pushing a third one in place.

 

“You’re different.  We’re family.  We’ve bonded, shared our blood.”

 

“Get off me,” Hermione demanded weakly.

 

For whatever reason the man slithered off.  “Ooo, the famous Ms. Granger speaks.”  He seemed to exchange a glance with John before slipping his hands inside his robes and sauntering out of the room as if he had simply stopped in for a casual visit.   

 

John pressed a piece of gauze into the crook of her arm and bent it back to hold it in place.  “You’re home safe and sound now.”  John kissed her on the forehead.  “Just rest and I’ll make you some dinner.”

 

“Who was that and why were you taking my blood?”

 

“That’s my cousin.  I told you about him, remember?  Don’t mind him, he’s a little cynical.  And I’m just running some tests, love.  Trying to help the doctors out and find a cure for you.”

 

“But…”

 

“No buts.  You need to be quiet and rest.”

 

“I was at my parents’ home.  How did I get here?”

 

“You’ve been here all along, babe.  Now just sleep and I’ll be back with dinner.”

 

“But…”

 

“Shhh” and the door slipped shut.

 

Hermione had so many things in contention it was hard to find one to focus on.  Her vision remained blurry, her arm throbbed, some intensely creepy man who knew her name had just climbed on top of her, she had a horrible dream of waking up in heaven only to find out it was her parent’s home and lastly, she had discovered that Ron was getting married.  Even though she knew her body lay perfectly still, it felt like her arms and legs were flailing wildly in a sea of confusion, trying to grasp onto something firm, anything that might hold her steady long enough to catch her breath.

 

It almost felt as if breathing itself had become difficult.  The effort to draw in any air was frightening her to the point of tears.  However, she knew that crying would only make it worse and she tried desperately to slow her breathing down and remain calm.

 

She couldn’t make out the voices on the other side of the door, but she recognized the new one, John’s cousin, his tone somewhat urgent and demanding.  Several doors opened and closed and then after a brief bit of quiet she heard John almost scream ‘I’ve got it!’

 

Hermione wasn’t sure how it had happened, but the deeply insistent sleep had claimed her body again and when she woke the room had taken on a more orange hue.  The afternoon sun had shifted to this side of the flat and Hermione knew with a passion that precious bits of time were slipping away from her.  She needed to get out of this place.  Something wasn’t right.

 

With all of her determination, she rolled to the other side of the bed and slipped off, only then noticing the trail of long brown and gray hairs that wormed their way across the bed.  Reaching up into her hair, she brought a piece around to look at it and nearly screamed at the streak of gray running down the center.  Panic, unlike any she had ever experienced, sprinted through her system and she grabbed the side of the nearby dresser and hoisted herself up to a standing position.

 

No matter how much she liked her new flat, she couldn’t stay here any longer.  Pushing the door open, she stumbled toward the exit, using walls and furniture for support along the way.  Starting at the bottom, she worked frantically to release all of the latches and bolts that John had installed on her main door.  Part of the effort had to be done by touch as her vision swam in and out of focus.  Freedom was only a chain away.  She slipped it from the slot, gripped the door knob, turned it and fell against the door, fully expecting to land in the outer hall.  Instead, the door remained motionless.

 

She pressed her shoulder into it again, jiggled the door knob and tried to re-examine the bolts to see if she had missed something.  

 

“Come on!” she yelled, slamming her shoulder into the door with all the force she could muster.  Again, it remained still.  “No!”  She sunk to the floor in front of the door, looking around for some other means of escape.  The door to the spare bedroom, usually locked, sat slightly ajar and Hermione considered that perhaps she could find something in there to help.  Besides, she had a morbid curiosity of what John had set up in that room.  He seemed to be very protective of it.

 

Scrambling on a mix of feet and knees, Hermione swung the door open and nearly fell in.  It looked more like a laboratory than a bedroom.  It did have a bed, but beyond that, the only furniture was two high-top tables containing bottles with scientific labels in tiny print that she couldn’t make out with her ocular difficulties, vials, centrifuges and microscopes.  Hermione shook her head, trying to make sense of why John would have such items in his bedroom.  She knew he was a pre-med student and that he did study biology and chemistry, but this seemed a bit extreme to have in one’s bedroom.  A glass-front refrigerator on wheels sat beneath the nearest table and she saw her own name on several of the vials within it, marker scribbled dates identifying them from the present back to a couple of weeks earlier.

 

“Oh, my god.”  What had John been doing?  Sneaking in to her room and taking blood samples?  Maybe that explained why her arm seemed constantly sore.  Was he actually working with the doctor?  She couldn’t remember any conversation with Ginny or the healers that indicated such an arrangement.

 

The need to get out of her flat increased, her flight reflexes kicking in as she stumbled back out of the bedroom and toward the Floo.  Frantically, lids popped off of jars and dishes as she searched for Floo powder, but there was none to be found.  Could the Floo work somehow without it?  She crawled in about to try, but glanced up to see the metal Floo door latched shut.  Using the heel of her hand, she attempted to push the metal latch to the side, but even with using all of her limited energy, it wouldn’t budge.

 

Looking around the flat for something she could use to jimmy it open, her eyes settled on the phone.  A quick list of people ran through her head and she skipped the ones she wanted to dial – her parents - in favor of the ones she thought could help her the soonest.  Sliding out of the soot-filled hearth, she crawled to the small table beside the telly.  Having used it recently, she pressed the digits to get the Ministry’s Muggle line and waited.

 

“Thank you for calling the Muggle Hot Line.  Our regular hours are Monday through Friday, six am to midnight.  If you have an emergency, please contact the Muggle police.  If not, leave a message and…”

 

“No!” she slammed the receiver down, realizing it was Sunday, the time that no one would be around.  Giving in to her first idea, she dialed her parents, but it went unanswered, something that worried her even more for she was positive that just hours before she had spoken to them and rested in her own childhood bedroom.  Harry carried a Muggle cell phone, but she had never bothered to get the number.  She pulled the small spiral-bound notebook off the table and started flipping through it, searching for any name with a Muggle number that she might be able to call for help.  For a second she even considered just calling the regular Muggle authorities, but she knew that John would easily charm his way through the system and his creepy looking cousin would be there to help.  Similar calls to other friends all resulted in answering machines.  The pages of her address book now blurred even more as several tears dropped on the pages in frustration.

 

“I have to get out of here,” she rattled to herself, hands shaking.  Then Dean Thomas’ name jumped out at her.  She sniffed, wiped her eyes and pressed his number with methodical precision, praying for an answer, praying for any help she could find.  “Please, be there…please, please, please…”  

 

“You’ve reached the Thomas’s.  Please leave a message and we’ll get back to you as soon as…”

 

“NO!”  She screamed just before another voice came on the line.

 

“Hold on, let the machine finish.”

 

“Dean?  Dean is that you?” she asked frantically as a beep blared over the line.

 

“Yes, this is Dean.  Who’s this?”

 

“Hermione.  It’s Hermione Granger.”

 

“Oh, wow.”  His voiced cheered up.  “Hermione.  It’s been a long time…”

 

“Dean, please.  I need help.  Please, you’ve got to help me.”

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Just can you get hold of Harry or Ron?  Please.  Tell them to come and get me at my flat.”

 

“Hermione, what’s going on?”

 

Hermione’s heart leap through her chest as the jiggle of metal sounded from the door.  This time it came from the other side.  A key had just slipped into a lock and was turning, the bolts on the back of the door slipping to and fro.

 

“Oh, god.  Please, Dean, get them now.  Please.”

 

“Why can’t you Floo call or…”

 

“Dean, now!”

 

“Alright, alright, I’ll get hold of them.  Do you need the police or something…?”

 

“Police?”

 

She cried out in pain as a hand gripped her hair and pulled, her scalp stinging with the force of being ripped away from her skull.  She dropped the phone and immediately reached up to support herself.  A red scaly hand picked up the receiver and she heard that same voice as before.  “No, I’m sorry, we don’t need the police, but thank you for your concern.”

 

The receiver came to rest back in the cradle before the man ripped the entire unit from the connection and threw it across the room, smashing into the opposite wall, bits and pieces scattering as she screamed.

 

“Calling the authorities, are we?” the voice spoke, dragging Hermione back toward the sofa by her hair.  She scratched at the wrists that held her in tow as her hips slid along the carpet.

 

“Please…please…”

 

“Shut up, you filthy little whore.”

 

A leg straddled her lap, the back of her neck pressing into the front of the sofa cushion as he pushed her head back, his hand now on her throat.  With pain and open-mouthed terror, she panted with a stutter, her heart pumping in a valiant effort to keep her alive, even though her legs bent under her like twisted strands of licorice.  “You’d do anything to get your magic back, wouldn’t you?  Well, it’s not going to happen.  The spell is permanent.  I’ve seen what it can do.”

 

Her throat bobbed as she attempted to swallow, her neck craned back against the cushion.

 

“Now, if I were you, I’d be a good little girl and keep my mouth shut and stay in my room or I might regret it.  You may be Jack’s little play thing and being as he’s family, I’ll let him have his fun.  But you do anything wrong and I may decide to play with you some myself.  You’ll wish you were dead long before I actually kill you.”

 

The door latches began to jiggle again and the man released his grip on her throat.  Hermione sensed a savior and drew in a breath to scream, but before she could yell out or even move, she found herself paralyzed, mute and hoisted in the air enroute to her bedroom.  

 

“Arty, you back already?” John’s voice called out from the entrance.  She floated down onto her bed and Carrow called back.

 

“Yeah, Jack, I’m in here checking on Hermione.”

 

Unable to do anything except breathe and swallow, Hermione listened to her own pulsing heartbeat as John walked into the room.

 

“Hey, thanks Arty.  Did you get her something to eat yet?”

 

“No, but I’m starved.  What have you got?”  Carrow strode confidently out of the room, knowing full well that Hermione wouldn’t be able to say a thing against him in her current palsied state.  She fought with all her remaining strength to shake the curse, but her body lay still, her voice mute, but her eyes pulsing wide open with fear.  

 

“Oh, um…well, they had some really good looking chicken and potatoes.”  He glanced at Hermione, who rested with a panicked look on her face.  “Lookin’ kind of creepy there, Hermione.  But, no matter.  I think I’ve found what I wanted so I probably won’t need you for much longer.  Just a few more tests and we’ll be done, babe.”

 

“Jack, come on, I’m hungry.”

 

“Yeah, I’m coming.”  John looked at her one more time, not with love or malice, more like staring at a toy you’ve finally tired of playing with and left the room.

 

*** 

 

Harry’s cell phone buzzed on his hip just minutes after Ron and he had arrived back at his home, sitting down to formulate a search plan.  He pulled it from his belt and read the name before flipping it open.

 

“Dean?  Dean, is that you?”

 

“Yeah, Harry.  Glad I was able to reach you.”

 

“Good to hear from you…”

 

“Harry, I just got an urgent call from Hermione.”  Harry flipped on the speaker so that Ron could hear.  “She asked me to get hold of you or Ron and said she needs you to come and get her.  She sounded really worried.  I offered to call the police, but then this man came on the line and said they didn’t need the police and then the call went dead.”

 

“Come and get her from where?”  Ron yelled.

 

“Ron?  Is that you, mate?”

 

“Where Dean?” Ron demanded.

 

“Her flat.  She said her flat.”  

 

“Unbelievable.”  Ron stood up and Disapparated before Harry could even finish the call.

 

“Thanks, Dean.  I’ve got to run.”

 

“Yeah.  Call me later and let me know if she’s alright, okay?”

 

“Will do.”  He flipped the phone shut, hooked it back on his belt and with a crack, appeared behind the bushes next to Hermione’s building.  Ron left so quickly Harry was afraid he wouldn’t think clearly and would put himself in danger again, but to his surprise, Ron was waiting for him, pacing in front of the steps that led to Hermione’s flat.

 

“You ready?” Ron asked, pulling his wand.

 

“You want more back-up?  We could call Robert.”

 

Shaking his head, he started climbing the stairs.  “No, we can handle this.”

 

Harry began to follow.  “Ron, what if John’s here?  Why don’t you let me try to talk to him first?  I think he’s kind of threatened by you.  Maybe he’ll just open the door for me.”

 

They reached the second floor, but Ron didn’t slow down to talk.  “Talk all you want Harry, but if he doesn’t move aside and let me get her, he’s going down.”

 

“I can’t believe he’d bring her back to her own flat.  I mean, how dense can you get?”  Harry asked, still taking the steps two at a time to match Ron’s pace.

 

“Well, if it was him, sounds like he had help and sounds like it was a wizard.”  They hit the landing for the next floor.  “He’s probably feeling a bit more confident.”

 

“Shite, Ron, if he does have a wizard helping him then we need to be extra cautious of dark magic.  Who knows what this guy is capable of…”

 

“That’s why I have you along, Harry.”

 

“Me?”

 

“Yeah, having you is like having an entire army of Aurors.”

 

“Oh, I’m not that good.”

 

“Yes, you are.”  Ron held a finger up to his lips, silencing their conversation as they climbed the last six steps and turned down the hall to the chipped brown door.

 

*** 

 

Hermione continued to struggle with the spell that held her.  Her limited strength was waning, but she tapped her mind, focusing every thought on breaking the spells that held her motionless and mute.  The effort was so overwhelming that she felt like she was visibly shaking even though she knew her body was incapable of such a thing.  Squeezing her eyes shut, she screamed in her head as loudly as possible.  Still nothing.

 

Pausing to catch her breath, she heard a booming knock thundering throughout the flat.  Her heart leapt and picked up speed, for the prospects of anyone showing up at that moment was both terrifying and joyful.  She’d keep screaming until the sound got out or she seized, whatever came first.  

 

*** 

 

Ron’s eyes were trained on the knob, his back flush against the wall along side the door.

  

If Harry could coax the door open, all the better, but Ron’s rage simmered just on the eye wall of the storm, ready to unleash its destructive fury the moment he saw that damnable face.  No degree of deceptive cunning could wash away the fact that his darling Hermione had unwillingly fallen prey to the most duplicitous of creatures.  And in her handicapped state, she couldn’t see his hypocrisy.  That job would have to fall on Ron’s shoulders and he was most eager to accept the position.

 

Harry knocked again.  It was becoming more a fist pounding, not the polite rap of the knuckles.

 

“John…it’s Harry.  Are you home?”  Harry’s voice carried with politeness, but Ron knew the same fury wrestled within his mate.

 

Ron’s eyes darted to Harry’s for a split second as they heard rustling movement and a low murmur of voices.  Neither voice sounded feminine and Ron quickly cast two silencing charms on the walls around them, knowing full well that an unsuspecting Muggle could come to investigate and unknowingly witness something that would put all of them in danger.  Harry acted similarly, instead directing an amplifying spell right through the door.

 

John’s muffled voice spoke through the wood, but rang much clearer thanks to Harry’s ingenuity.  “Yeah, Harry, I’m here.  This isn’t a good time for a visit.  I’m just getting out of the shower.”

 

This time they could hear the other voice quite clearly.  “Harry?  Not Harry Potter.”

 

“Yeah, it’s Harry Potter.  Why?” John asked.

 

“Invite him in, make him comfortable,” Arty insisted, his tone sweetly venomous.

 

Harry shot a dangerous look at Ron.

 

“What?” John replied, sounding baffled at such a request.

 

“Do it!” Arty whispered very insistently.

 

John’s voice returned to full volume indicating the game was on.  “Ron with you?”

 

Harry glanced at his partner who shook his head.  “No, John, Ron couldn’t make it, just me coming to check on Hermione this time.”

 

“She’s not here.”

 

“Really?  Look, can you just open the door so I don’t have to yell.”

 

“Just give me a minute to get dressed.”

 

Harry’s eyes squinted as an attack plan formulated in his head, but his voice remained as polite and innocent as ever.  “Sure, John.”

 

The conversation inside the flat continued, unaware that the two Aurors were hearing everything.  “Do you realize that Harry Potter is the reason I spent the past four years in hell?  Now, I’m going to slip into your room.  You get him in here and sit him down on the sofa and he will no longer be a problem for me or you.  With him out of the way, we’ll be on easy street.”

 

“Arty, what are you going to do?” John murmured, sounding troubled and cowardly.

 

“Don’t you worry, cuz.  Arty will take care of everything and then we can have a little fun with your girlfriend.”

 

“What?  What do you mean ‘fun’?”

 

“Get the door.  Hurry up.”

 

“Hey, watch where you wave that thing.  You don’t want to accidentally curse me.”

 

“Oh, believe me, if I cursed you, it wouldn’t be an accident.”

 

There was a brief pause of silence and Ron wondered what kind of visual exchange was going on between the two men in the apartment.  Just the mention of ‘fun’ with Hermione had his skin crawling in anxious fury.  However, at the moment, Harry’s well-being seemed more threatened than Hermione’s and Ron blew out a deep breath to gain control of his nerves.

 

Harry waved his wand in a sweeping motion as if erasing a giant chalkboard in the air and moments later his wand was spelling out instructions written directly from his lips.  Harry would silence John and then cast a voice-over charm on him to make his own voice sound just like the Muggle.  Ron would Stun him, float him into the kitchen and bind him.  Then they would both lay in wait for this unknown dark wizard to make his un-wisest of moves.

 

At least they had a plan and to Ron, it sounded like a good one.  He and Harry worked well as a team.  Rarely did anything not go according to plan.  That was the highlight of having Lieutenant Harry Potter running the show in the past few years.  All those trips in the forest and rallies against Voldemort and his cronies, they had all molded Harry into the finest of strategic planners and an awesome wand wielder.  Neither of the men were the type to blow their own horns, but it was well known that Potter and Weasley were the team to be reckoned with when it came to taking down the darkest ones out there.

 

It was with this sense of confidence that Ron slipped to Harry’s left and waited for the door to open.  Harry waved his hand and dropped the amplifier charm just as the latches unlocked.

 

“Harry!  Nice to see you again.  Won’t you come in?  Too bad Ron couldn’t make it.”

 

“Thanks, John.”  But before Harry even finished the sentence, he waved his wand twice, ducked to the side and Ron hit John with a Stunner.  His limp body fell forward and Ron caught him with an audible grunt.  

 

Harry tried to cover it up with a brisk clearing of the throat as he stepped into the flat, throwing John’s voice with the ease of a master ventriloquist.  “So, yeah, it’s been a long day.”  He kept an eye on the bedroom door on his left, knowing full well about the upcoming ambush.  “Um…so would you like something to drink?”  He stepped past the doorway, taking a dueling stance on the other side.

 

Ron circled his wand around John and bands of glowing rope bound him tightly.  He was just about to pull him behind the furniture when the bedroom door swung open and a black booted foot stepped over the threshold.  A glowing wand tip followed and Ron tried to get himself out of view, but unfortunately made a somewhat louder than desirable thud when he hit the floor and rolled.

 

The heel of Harry’s hand stretched out and the open door suddenly flung shut with incredible force.  Slamming into Carrow, the black-haired man flew off his feet backward into John’s room.  Ron rolled back to his feet and crouched just to the side of the entrance as Harry ripped his arm back.    The door came with it as if attached to Harry’s wrist, pulling off the hinges.  Harry whipped it into the telly which smashed, popped and shattered glass all over the floor.  Ron prepared to stun the man when Harry’s voice called out.  “Ron, behind you!”

 

Unbelievably, John was up and awake with a wooden chair hoisted high over his head.  Ron didn’t have time to contemplate how he had gained his freedom or to throw any spells, but instead raised his arms to protect his head from the blow.  It was a good thing Harry had shielded the walls because inside it sounded as if a war had erupted in the tiny flat.  A scrawny-looking man in black robes with stringy long hair appeared in the main entrance, his wand still smoking after having released John.  It was the only explanation as Ron was sure he had stunned the man quite thoroughly.

 

Harry would realize later how the noise from the door had covered up the crack of Apparition, giving Ron the complete explanation of how John had arisen so quickly.  This dark wizard wasn’t as dumb as they had hoped.  

 

Ron’s arm and shoulder took the brunt of the blow, his wand flying from his hand as parts of spindled wood flew in every direction.  The blow hurt like hell, but Ron’s rage was feeding adrenaline into his system.  Harry threw another Stunner at Carrow, but missed when he Disapparated on the spot and appeared nearly right behind him a second later.  

 

“Harry!”  Ron yelled, pointing at the enemy behind him.

 

Harry did his own disappearing act.  Ron scanned the floor for his wand, not an easy task with the toothpicks of wood scattered all about.  Somewhere on the other side of the room he could hear grunts and wand fire, but only saw the man in black spinning wildly and hexing the air around him.  He would have to ask Harry later on what spell he had used, but it looked ingenious.

 

“Looking for this?” John asked and Ron spun around, his hand raised with caution as John pointed his own wand directly at his chest.  “You aren’t so tough without your little stick, are you?”  John shifted left and Ron followed suit.  He knew the man had no magical abilities, but he also didn’t want his wand damaged.  John continued, half a lip curling.  “You know, I don’t know what your major malfunction is, dickhead, but if you haven’t noticed, I have a little special help of my own.  Hermione won’t be needing you anymore after today.”

 

Two possible outcomes wrenched through Ron’s brain.  Either Hermione was going to be dead or he was.  At least that was John’s plan.  Neither one did anything to make Ron any less furious, but keeping it cool, he decided to try the casual approach.  “I don’t need a wand to break your fucking neck, but at least I can use one.  Why don’t you keep it as a souvenir?  You can dress up in women’s underwear and play wizard games in your bedroom.”

 

All it took was that one millisecond, the time it took for John to glance at the instrument in his hand, and Ron was on him.  He flung the full force of his six foot two inch frame at John who flipped over the back of the sofa as the two of them crashed through the coffee table.

 

“Stop playing with me, Potter.  Show yourself!  Fight like a man!”  Carrow shouted, wand fire erupting in all shapes and forms from his weapon.  Scorch marks were slicing the walls and curtains, a white hot hole bored through the glass in the window.  

 

Unexpectedly, a piercing scream hijacked the action, even Carrow’s misguided spells paused from the length and force of the wail.  It literally shook the walls as Hermione’s peals of torturous fear transformed into cries for help.  John took one glance at Ron whose arms had encircled his legs.  

 

“She’s not here, huh?”

 

“She’s mine!” John seethed through his clenched teeth and kicked out with all his strength, striking a blow to Ron’s cheek.  Ron instantly recognized the brown shoes he had seen in Prague and realized that this was the second time John had kicked him in the face.  Even with his head now throbbing, Ron instantly knew John’s plan.  He was going after her.  For some sick and twisted reason, this man wanted her for himself.  The Muggle scratched and crawled his way toward Hermione’s bedroom door even as Hermione’s own screaming sobs for help continued in full force.  A white blast of light shot past Ron’s ear, close enough to feel the heat singe the hair on his head.  

 

“Fuck!” he ducked, but got to his feet and like a linebacker at full tilt, sprinted toward the man that was stumbling through the door at the end of the hall.  If he got to Hermione, who knows what he would do.

 

“Oh, no you don’t!” Ron bellowed, tackling John to the floor beside the bed, the air bursting out of his lungs as he handed.  The rug burns would show up later.  John had one hand on Hermione’s robe and was dragging her off the bed.

 

Her cries were intense and demanding, but Ron’s fury had overtaken him as he sucked in a breath and threw the first punch at John’s face.  Squirming, kicking and punching back, John released her and shouted a string of obscenities and insults, some aimed at him, some at her.  Clipping Ron in the ribs once, he then aimed for his face and split the skin on Ron’s lip enough that a spatter of blood was now dotting their clothes and the carpet.  

 

“Get the fuck off me.  You can’t have her!!  Aaaarrrrgh!”  John roared and tried to grab Ron’s throat.

 

Another thump and several shouts rang from the room behind him, but Ron focused on nothing but connecting blow after blow to John’s head.

 

“Keep the fuck” punch “away from her” punch “or I’ll fuckin’ kill you!” punch.

 

John’s jaw began turning a massive shade of red and purple, blood spurting from his mouth.  His reply gurgled, but still sounded clear, impressive considering the damage.  “She isn’t a freak like you!”  He hit Ron in the nose causing him to flinch back for a second.  “Besides, I’ve already ruined her for you.”  He spit a wad of blood that landed on Ron’s chin.  “Fucked her good and hard.  She isn’t your precious little virgin bitch anymore!”

 

Hermione cried even harder.

 

The image that formed in Ron’s brain filled him with a rage that rippled out of him with the force of a nuclear blast.  

 

“AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!”  Ron’s fist slammed into John’s jaw again and with a loud crack, a tooth shot from his mouth, rolling across the carpet.  Unable to even feel the pain, Ron’s knuckles simply crimped up, his swelling joints curling in as his hand withdrew into the relative safety of his mid-section.  John’s body fell limp.

 

“RON!  Ron, please stop!  Please, please!  Stop!!”  Hermione cried, her body stretched across the bed in the form of a paraplegic who had fallen out of her wheelchair.  Her blotchy cheeks were streaked in tears as her hand reached toward Ron.

 

“FUCK YOU!” Ron screamed, at the now unconscious man, his chest heaving with exertion.  He spit a mouth full of blood over John’s mangled form as he rolled off him and leaned against the side of the bed.  Hermione’s hand grabbed a fist full of Ron’s sleeve and sobbed fearfully into his shoulder.

 

Panting, but intact, Harry stepped into the doorway, his wand in hand, appearing ready for the next fight.  “He Disapparated, but I think I hurt him.  He was throwing some really odd curses.”  Harry’s eyes darted to Hermione and back to Ron and the bloodied body on the floor beside them.

 

“Please, tell me you didn’t kill him.”

 

“I wish I had,” Ron seethed and kicked his boot at John’s gut who twitched from the resulting crack, but remained out cold.

 

“We need to get out of here.  That dark creep could come back.  We don’t have any wards here.  We need to get Hermione to safety.”  Harry panted as he stepped around Ron to help Hermione up.

 

“No!  I’ll help her.  You watch our backs on the way out.”  Harry turned to check the flat again and Ron grunted, wiping his bloodied lip on the sleeve of his shirt and reaching around to lift himself up using the edge of the mattress.  “Can you walk?” he asked Hermione.

 

“I don’t know.  I’ll try.”  Her attempt to stand was futile, her knees simply unable to lock her into place and Ron quickly eased her back down on the edge of the bed.  “Stay here.  I have to find my wand.  I’ll be right back.  I promise.”

 

“I’ve got it.”  Harry replied, having already picked it up.  He handed it over to Ron who waved it at Hermione just as he slipped his arm around her waist.  “Here we go.”  She half floated in his arm, her head tipping down to rest on his shoulder, hiccups accenting her already trembling form.

 

“Do you want me to heal him?” Harry asked, looking at John’s crumpled body.  “There’ll be hell to pay if Kingsley finds out about this.  You went a little overboard.”

 

Ron couldn’t argue with Harry.  It was quite possible that he could get into a barrel of trouble for the arse-kicking he had just laid on the Muggle man.  Still, he just couldn’t leave John without a little reminder of Ron’s wrath.

 

“Heal his ribs, but leave his ugly face.  Fuckwad deserves it.”  Harry did as asked and then led the way through the flat, repairing the damaged table, chair, telly and door.  The less evidence the better.  Harry turned to Ron and waved a healing spell over his own split lip and bruised cheek, both of which turned much paler shades of purple.  “Thanks.”

 

Within a few minutes they were down the stairs and Harry checked to see if the way was clear.  They couldn’t Disapparate, but knew that time was of the essence in getting Hermione away from the general area.  Using the familiar hedges for cover, Ron set her down for a moment.

 

As usual, Harry was already formulating their next move.  “My house or the Burrow?” he asked Ron.

 

Hermione cut in.  “Your house.”  She looked at Ron’s concerned expression and addressed her explanation to him.  “Please.  I can’t stand seeing your mum all worked up and fussing over me.”

 

Ron’s reply was quite fatter of fact.  “You need a little fussing over.”

 

“P-please?” she stuttered.

 

Ron let out a breath and nodded to Harry who immediately went to hail a cab.

 

Ron’s focus was still trained on escape, his eyes constantly darting over the area, watching for the return of the dark wizard.  However, he couldn’t help notice Hermione’s trembling form at his feet, as she sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, her thin nightgown unable to provide much cover.  He desperately wanted to stop and talk to her, to assure her that things were going to change, but with danger still looming, he had to keep his head in the game. Harry managed to hail a cab and Ron quickly scooped her up and raced around the outside corner of the bush.

 

After Harry convinced the worried-looking driver that Hermione was his sister and he was taking her to the doctor’s office, they finally arrived a few blocks from Harry’s London home.  Harry paid the driver and Hermione did her best to feign a smile and a wave for the suspicious man.

 

Ron insisted on carrying her the remaining couple of blocks and soon Harry was leading the way to a spare bedroom on his second floor.  Ginny heard them come in and raced up the steps.

 

“Ronald Weasley!” she cried seeing the remains of Ron’s injuries.  

 

Ron couldn’t help but flinch as his sister had a knack of channeling his mum with absolute precision.  “What?”  He placed Hermione carefully on the bed and turned to face Ginny.

 

“You had better be glad that it’s me seeing your face right now and not our mum.”

 

Ron rolled his eyes, but he knew she was right.  If his mother were to see him, he’d get smothered for hours and then she’d be marching right into Kingsley’s office demanding he get put on a desk job.

 

“Harry, pull some extra blankets out for Hermione.  And, you…” She pointed at Ron “Get out of this room and downstairs where I can look at those wounds.”

 

“Why do I have to get out of the room?” Ron whined as if being scolded by his mother.

 

“Well, for one, you’re getting blood on my carpet and two, Hermione needs quiet and three, she’s wearing next to nothing and…” Ron couldn’t help it, his eyes automatically flashed to confirm Ginny’s findings.  “Ah, ah, ah…get your eyes off her and over to me.”  Ron felt the flush of warmth travel through his cheeks and knew it wasn’t from the kick in the head he had just received.  She walked around him and pushed him out of the room, turning back at the last minute.  “Hermione, I’ll be back to check on you real soon.  Just rest.”

 

*** 

 

Harry opened the blanket up, tucking it carefully around Hermione’s fragile form.  He couldn’t bear to actually look at her, the skeletal-looking, pale arms, the hair that was now graying – it was nearly too painful to witness, but a thin hand wrapped around his wrist.  He stared at it for a few seconds before finally convincing his eyes to look up at hers.

 

“Thank you, Harry.”

 

A giant knot passed through his windpipe and down his throat with great difficulty and he struggled to hold back the tears.  “You’re welcome,” was all he could manage without breaking up.  He quickly went back to smoothing out the blanket, needing something to do to give him time to compose himself.  “You’ll be safe here, Hermione.”

 

“I know,” she sniffed and release a loud stuttered breath.

 


	14. Chapter 14 - Order of Protection

  
Author's notes: Thank you for all the insightful reviews!  Hope you'll enjoy this new chapter.  


* * *

Chapter 14 – Order of Protection

 

  

“What the hell happened?  You’re covered in blood!” Ginny demanded, waving her wand over the side of Ron’s face.  “Harry healed you, didn’t he?”

 

“A little.”  Ron winced just slightly as Ginny carefully examined the bridge of his nose.

 

“I can tell.”  She sat back and huffed.  “He’s fantastic at takin’ ‘em down, but not at fixing them up.”

 

“Felt better to me.” Ron defended his mate, sitting on the sofa.

 

“Of course it felt better, but he didn’t get the bones completely realigned.  It felt better because it wasn’t bleeding or swelling anymore, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to heal right.”  She pointed a finger at him.  “Now, you stay right here.  I mean it!”

 

Ron’s eyes said it all as they glanced up to her from his crest-fallen shoulders.  Ginny darted out of the room.  He glanced down at his shirt, seeing great amounts of blood and sweat covering him.  He finally realized why the taxi driver had looked so panicked, the same way his sister had a minute earlier.  He ripped the shirt over his head primarily to get rid of the smell.  

 

“You’re a mess, too!  Are you bleeding?” Ginny’s voice rang from the other room and Ron could picture her interrogating Harry.  

 

“No, I’m fine, Gin.  I have to go back.  Just take care of them.”

 

She returned in a few moments with a clean t-shirt, a bag of ice, two small vials of something green and a large needle.  “Aren’t you two supposed to look out for each other?”

 

“What the hell is _that_ for?” Ron eyed the needle, ignoring her other comments.

 

“This…” she rested the ice on his still swollen knuckles “is for your hand.  Even a healing spell can use a little help.  This…” she lifted the first vial to his lips “is a pain killer.  Drink.”

 

Ron did as instructed, and then pulled on the new shirt, but immediately began protesting.  “Why can’t you just use a spell for that?”

 

“Because, I’m going to have to rebreak your nose in order to line it up and the potion works much better for pain.”

 

Whatever it was, the reaction came quick.  Ron’s head began to swim, his reflexes slowed.  If he weren’t a connoisseur at getting drunk, he’d have believed that his body had ingested an entire bottle of Ogden’s.  “Okey dokey…so, um…what’s the needle for then?”  The room was beginning to blur, colors of blue and green mixing together.

 

“Lie down.”  Ginny lifted his legs onto the sofa.  “I have to recheck your blood for the virus and some other things.”  

 

“But why do you have to use the nee…”  Ron barely flinched as she took the blood sample, her words of explanation blending into unintelligible mumbles.  He was in a blissful state of intoxication.  However, when Ginny climbed on top of him and recracked his nose, he reacted quite differently.

 

“OUCH!  Dammit woman!”

 

“Sorry.”  Within seconds, however, Ron’s pain evaporated and he felt himself falling asleep.

 

The loud thud of the door knocker woke him a bit later.  He couldn’t be sure how much time had passed, but the windows appeared black.  His head still felt groggy, but the unrelenting knock on the door wouldn’t let him sleep.

 

Soft footsteps brushed over the wooden floors and Ron heard Ginny’s voice welcoming whomever had just entered the house.

 

“Harry, what’s going on?”  Ginny called, her voice sounding concerned but not panicked.  Ron tried to wake up, but his eyes kept drooping.

 

More mumbled voices floated over the air.  “Wait a second.”  Harry’s voice erupted, growing louder as if he was moving into the room.  “It was self-defense.  You can’t arrest him.  He’s an Auror and was doing his sworn duty.”

 

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant Potter,” another voice interrupted “but the man pressed charges for battery.  He’s really busted up.  Looks like his jaw is broken.”

 

“Pressed charges?” Ginny interrupted.  “How the hell could he do that when he’s in the lock up?  Harry, what happened?”

 

Harry released a sigh and Ron tried to focus on his words of explanation.  “We got back to the flat and the place was swarming with Muggle authorities.  We followed him to the hospital and waited to try and apprehend him.  Apparently, he caused a major stink with the Muggle authorities, insisted on talking to the Prime Minister himself.  I had Williams following him in the building and he was marching around the hospital with his jaw wired shut, kicking things.  Said he knew stuff about the ‘magic’ world and if he didn’t get satisfaction, he was going to the press.  Our hand was forced.  We had to do something or risk a massive case of exposure.  I’ve been in meetings with Kingsley for a couple of hours now, trying to work something out.”

 

“Then work it out!” Ginny interrupted again, clearly agitated.  “You can’t just haul him off like this.”

 

The Auror at the front lifted a piece of parchment.  “We have an order from the Prime Minister to bring Ron in.”

 

“Second Lieutenant Weasley to you, Corporal,” Harry corrected, looking exhausted and quite displeased.

 

“Yes, Sir.  I’m sorry, Sir.  I’m just following orders.” 

      

With Harry and Ginny watching, the two Aurors bound Ron’s wrists in front of him and helped lift him to his feet.

 

“Is he drunk?”

 

“No, he certainly is not!”  Ginny defended.  “I had to knock him out in order to heal his wounds.  That Muggle wasn’t the only one that got hurt, you know.”

 

“Yes, Ma’am.  The only problem is that you’ve just erased any evidence that might have put the guilt back on the Muggle.”

 

“But…he’s an Auror!”

 

“Ginny…”  Harry rested a hand on her shoulder.  “Let them do their job.  We’ll take care of it.”

 

The two men levitated Ron out the door as he seemed unable to walk on his own.

 

Ginny’s worried eyes bore into Harry, her unpronounced ‘well, do something’ clearly understood.  Harry stripped off his robes, moving swiftly to the laundry room where he grabbed a fresh t-shirt off the stack on top and pulled it on as he moved toward the door.  Discarding the blood spattered shirt on the floor, he lifted his wand.  “I’ll be back soon.”  With a loud crack, he was gone.

 

For a moment, Ginny felt out of sorts, unable to focus on her next task.  Ron getting arrested was never a possibility.  Her dislike of John was growing exponentially and she finally turned and decided to go interrogate Hermione.  Whatever was going on with her boyfriend did not fall in the realm of normal, loving relationships.  Ron comes in beat up, broken nose, Harry frazzled and mumbling things about a very odd curse and Hermione looked like death warmed over having been rescued from her own flat.

 

Ginny’s feet fell hard on the risers as she ascended the stairs, no longer concerned about maintaining a quiet household.  Within a few solid thuds she was in the bedroom, catching Hermione’s bewildered stare.

 

“Alright, Hermione, I want some answers.”

 

“Me, too.”

 

“What do you mean, ‘me, too’?  I need to know what’s going on.  What the hell happened?  And why was Ron just arrested for assaulting John?”

 

“He was arrested?”  She tried to push herself up, shock evident all over her face.  “But…why?”

 

“That’s what I want to know.  Now talk.”  Ginny stood at the foot of the bed, arms wrapped tightly across her chest, eyes intense and glaring at her best friend.

 

“Oh, my god.  We have to do something.  Why didn’t they come and question me?  I was right there.  John’s the one that should be under arrest.  Where’s Harry?”

 

“He headed out after them.  So, start at the beginning because I’m really confused.  You were at your parents.”

 

“I knew I was there!” She yelled, confirming her memories, but then her face contorted into extreme concern.  “My parents!  We have to check on my parents!”  Hermione grew more agitated by the second.

 

“Your parents are fine.  Harry filled me in while you and Ron were sleeping.  Seems that some men broke into the house.  They stunned your parents, but they’re both fine.  Ron came to the house to check on you and he found them and called Harry.”

 

“Thank heavens,” she relaxed back onto her pillow, one less worry on her mind.

 

“So, who took you?”

 

“It was John.”

 

“Wait a second.  Your boyfriend kidnapped you from your parents’ home in your sick bed and took you where exactly?”

 

“Back to my flat.”

 

“What…he couldn’t just knock on the door and politely ask if you wanted to go home?”

 

“Ginny, I’ve been such a fool.  I can’t believe that I allowed all of this to happen.  I was an idiot!”

 

“Allowed what to happen?”

 

“John’s obviously been playing me all along.  I don’t know what he’s up to, but he’s been taking blood samples from me.”

 

“What?”  Ginny’s arms unfolded in disbelief.

 

“Remember when I mentioned that my arm was sore?”  Hermione twisted her left arm to reveal the inside of her elbow, several small bruises dotting the landscape.

 

“And I saw what I thought were needle marks on your arm.”  Ginny shrunk to the side of the mattress.  “Oh, sweetie.  I should have said something.  I’m so sorry.  I knew something looked odd, but I just thought…”

 

“We both ignored the obvious.  He has a whole lab set up in his bedroom.  He kept it locked all the time and I never saw it until today.  He had vials with my blood all labeled.”

 

Ginny shook her head, trying to figure out the puzzle.  “So, what is he up to?”

 

“He said he was trying to help the doctors find a cure for me.  I’ve been so out of it.  Did he ever talk to them about taking blood samples?”

 

“Not that I know of.  I’m sure none of our healers would have authorized something like that, not knowing if the conditions were sterile and with him being a Muggle.  I’m licensed for home health care so it’s fine for me, but…” She shook her head.  “No, I’m sure they wouldn’t have done that.”

 

“That’s kind of what I thought.”

 

“But wait, Harry said someone stunned your parents.  John’s a Muggle.”

 

“I know.  He had help.”  Hermione began twisting the covers in her worried hands.

 

Ginny arched a brow.  “Who?”

 

“His cousin.  His name is Arty.  I don’t know much else, but from what I saw this is not a good wizard, not a good person at all.  I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s involved in big-time dark magic.  He’s mean and…he…”  Hermione began to tremble and Ginny noticed.

 

“What did he do?  Did he hurt you?”  Ginny’s eyes grew wide, hoping it wasn’t what she thought.

 

Hermione nodded, her face scrunching up with the memory of her earlier trauma.  “He… threatened me.  I knew something was wrong and I tried to call for help.  I got hold of Dean Thomas and right in the middle of the conversation Arty walked in and ripped the phone right out of the wall.  He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me to the sofa, told me to behave or he was going to do something really bad to me.”

 

“What did you do?” Ginny asked with awe in her voice.

 

“I couldn’t do anything.  He put me under some kind of paralytic and levitated me into the bedroom.  John came walking in and his cousin pretended that everything was fine.  I couldn’t talk, couldn’t move, nothing.  The next thing I know, Harry and Ron were pounding on the door and then this horrible fight began in the other room.  I kept trying to scream, but nothing would come out.  Finally, the spell wore off and I was able to call for help.  Then suddenly John came bursting through my door.”

 

Hermione looked nearly as terrified as she had an hour earlier, recounting those events.  “Ginny, his eyes were wild.  He looked like he wanted to strangle me.  He got hold of my arm and then suddenly Ron tackled him right on my bedroom floor before he could really get to me and they…well, you can see what happened.”

 

“Well, one thing’s for sure, we need to keep you away from John and his cousin.  We should contact Kingsley and report this, get an Auror patrol out here.  You should press charges against him, Hermione.”

 

“I agree.  Ginny, you don’t think John knows that Harry and Ron brought me here, do you?”

 

“I hope not.”

 

“I don’t think he does.  John was out cold when we left and his cousin Disapparated before Harry could get him.  But, he’s free and I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

 

“So, what about this spell that Harry told me about?  Did you hear it or see anything?”

 

“I’m sorry, but no.”

 

Ginny looked around the room for a moment, her eyes bobbing around as they tried to determine her next steps.  “Alright, first off, I’m going to double check the wards and send an owl to Kingsley.  Then I’m going to get you some food and you are going to eat.  I hope Harry is going to be able to get Ron off the hook.  What a mess.”

 

“He didn’t have to come for me like he did.  I didn’t mean to cause all this.  I could be the cause of exposure on our entire world!”  Hermione added, the guilt evident on her face.

 

“Well, you didn’t actually tell John you were a witch, right?”

 

“No, he already knew.  He brought it up, not me.”

 

“Then it’s not your fault.  Obviously, someone else leaked it and that’s bad enough.”

 

“But Ron _is_ my fault.  I didn’t want him to get in trouble, I just needed to get out of there.”

 

“You know that he’ll come anytime you need him.”  She started to leave.  “He loves you, Hermione.”

 

Hermione half sniffed, half snorted.  “It isn’t love, Ginny.”

 

“Then what is it?”  She turned back before leaving the room.

 

“He’s my friend and he feels sorry for me.”

 

“Oh, that’s a lot of pish-posh, Hermione.  This is not a pity party.  You need to get yourself together and start fighting this thing and it starts with taking better care of yourself.  Now, I’ll be back shortly with food.  You rest.”  Ginny pointed sternly at her friend and Hermione crinkled her mouth in hesitant understanding before settling back on her pillow.  She had so much to consider.

 

*** 

 

It didn’t take long for Harry to catch up to Ron.  Everyone they passed gaped in wonder at the famous Weasley and his entourage of Aurors.  Certain whispers revealed that more people thought he was traveling with body guards or some elite band of groupies than being escorted to jail.  They seemed to overlook the fact that his arms were bound in front of him.

 

Part of it may have been the fact that Ron himself didn’t look all that worried.  That was clearly part Ginny’s doing – he looked a bit tipsy – but Harry was sure than underneath it all, he felt confident of being cleared.  Still, it seemed utterly ludicrous that John would be able to sway that much influence, to actually get an Auror arrested for battery.  Harry was going to have to speak to Kingsley and find out how in the world he did it.

 

Catching up to the group, Harry approached the Auror in charge, a man named Philips.  He was older than Harry by at least ten years, and a good Auror to boot, but he didn’t outrank him.

 

“Auror Philips?”

 

Still holding Ron by the arm, Philips turned at the sound of his name.  “Yeah?”  Now seeing who had addressed him, he respectfully added in the “Sir?”

 

“I just want to know where you’re taking Auror Weasley.”

 

“Sir, we have orders to bring him before the magistrate.”

 

“Who’s the judge on duty tonight?” Harry asked, knowing that the judges rotated the evening schedule and none of them liked it.  So, it was a good chance that the judge would be in a foul mood to start off.

 

“I’m not sure who’s on tonight,” Philips added.  

 

“Philips, I need you to slow down just a little bit, alright?”

 

“Sir?” Philips queried, easing up on his pace as Harry raised a hand toward him.

 

“Take your time getting to the magistrate’s office.  That’s all I’m saying.  No rush.  Understood?”

 

“No rush.”  Philips appeared wary, but seemed to understand the fact that Harry wasn’t making idle chit-chat, he was indirectly ordering him to delay.

 

Harry needed time for Ron to sober up a bit from the effects of Ginny’s pain killers and he needed a few minutes to find out who the magistrate on duty was and see what he could do to improve the impending confrontation.

 

Harry jogged down the hall of the Ministry, reaching the black marble floors that led toward the Wizengamot chamber.  Off of it, to the right, were branching halls that housed the offices of the judges, clerks and administrative personnel.  Most people had gone home for the day and so it was relatively quiet as Harry checked the first few doors.  One would have a sign on it indicating the On-Duty magistrate.  When Harry found it, all he could do was stand and whisper to himself.  “Oh, shite.”

 

Kingsley was already in the room, having a somewhat heated discussion with Judge W.R. Randolph himself.  For a second, Harry contemplated the pros and cons of entering the office, throwing a little star power at the judge and maybe seeing what Kingsley had to say, but something about Kingsley’s livid expression told him it was the wrong moment.

 

He paced nervously outside the door for several restless minutes, listening to raised voices, but unable to make out any real conversation.  The door suddenly flew open, Kingsley, who usually maintained the demeanor of an ice cube, stomped out, huffed once and pointed an angry finger at Harry before marching down the hall.  

 

“Sir…”  Harry called out after him, but Kingsley waved a halting hand to him in response.

 

Philips’s head appeared around the same corner, like a lookout at a bank robbery and saw Kingsley storming toward him.  With one impassioned glance at Harry, Philips stepped out into the hall, Ron still in tow.

 

Kingsley stopped, put his hand on Ron’s shoulder and said something to him too soft for Harry to hear before muttering something that sounded obscene and stomped off toward his office.

 

Ron was at least walking now, however he still didn’t look fully awake.  Whatever Kingsley had said, Ron seemed to stand up a little taller and gather himself for the coming encounter.

 

Harry tried to unclench his fist and stop his teeth from grinding together as he spun back around, pocketed his morals and knocked on the door.

 

“Enter.”

 

With as much poise as possible, Harry strode confidently through the judge’s chamber door.  “Your honor, may I speak with you for a moment?”

 

“Ah, Lieutenant Potter!  We finally meet in person.  I’ve heard a lot about what you’ve been doing in the Auror Division.  Very impressive, very impressive.  Of course, you have an incredible history to draw on and I’m not surprised of your success.  What did you need to speak to me about?”

 

“Second Lieutenant Weasley, sir.”

 

“He seems to be the topic du jour.  Auror Shacklebolt was just in here extolling all his virtues and yet failing to convince me of why I shouldn’t just throw him in Azkaban.”

 

“Sir, Auror Weasley was acting in self-defense today.  Mr. Rasmussen should be in Ministry custody.”

 

“Someone acting in self-defense doesn’t break another man’s jaw and walk away unscathed, Lieutenant.  You should know that.”

 

“He was injured, too.”

 

“Not to the same extent.  Of course, these Muggles go about things so differently.  It’s nearly barbaric!  They wired his jaw shut!  Can you believe that?  They actually put wire in his mouth when a healing spell would have taken care of a good portion of the damage.”

 

“Yes, Sir…”  Harry tried not to fidget.

 

“I’m sorry, Potter, but Auror Weasley is known for his outbursts of temper and this time it’s gotten him in a load of trouble.  Even your famous name isn’t going to clear him of this.  Rasmussen’s case is being watched by the Muggle Prime Minister.  We can’t arrest him right now, not with him injured as he is.”

 

“Your honor, you wished to see me?”  Ron stood tall in the doorway, Philips by his side, his hands still glowing with the magical wrappings.

 

“Auror Weasley.  Sit down.”  The judge turned his attention back to Harry.  “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me while I discuss matters with Ronald.”

 

Ron cringed at the use of his full name, nearly as much as when the judge’s daughter used it.  Harry appeared as if he was fighting a serious case of goosebumps, but he placed a supportive hand on Ron’s shoulder and stepped outside.  Philips followed him out.

 

*** 

 

“Well, Ronald, looks like your temper has gotten you into some trouble this time.”

 

“Your honor…”

 

“Now, the issue is that the Muggle Authorities were brought in when this man showed up at the hospital with a broken jaw.  It went up the ladder right to the Muggle Prime Minister who contacted the Minister of Magic and it’s trickled down from there.  The Minister isn’t happy and he’s relayed to me his annoyance over the whole situation.  So, my hand is forced in this situation.”

 

“But, Sir…”

 

“I’m sorry, Ronald.  I hate to tarnish your record and I’m going to have a heck of a time explaining this to my daughter…”

 

“What does Diane…?”

 

“Diane will be disappointed, she thinks so highly of you.”  

 

Ron considered that the judge had probably not spoken to his daughter recently or that statement wouldn’t be so true.  Perhaps, in this one instance, he was lucky.

 

The judge got up and began a slow pace the length of his desk and back.  “Hmm…this could show badly upon the family later.”  He stroked the small white goatee.  “Perhaps…”

 

“Sir, aren’t you even going to let me tell my side of the story?”  Ron asked, appearing bewildered and shocked by the absoluteness in the judge’s words.

 

“It really doesn’t matter now, does it, Ronald?  We have to take some appropriate steps to appease the powers that be and save face.  I’m going to issue an Order of Protection to this Muggle and his girlfriend whose flat you invaded.”

 

“Hermione isn’t…”

 

“Ronald, if you interrupt me again, I won’t be as generous and you’ll be sleeping in a dark prison cell for the next two weeks.”

 

Ron pressed his lips together, despite an overwhelming desire to explain the situation.

 

“Good.  Now, you are to stay at least three hundred meters away from Mister…” he glanced down at the paper to confirm “…Rasmussen at all times.  You are not to speak to them, touch them or get anywhere near them.  Three hundred meters.  Is that clear, Ronald?”

 

“May I speak?” Ron asked hesitantly.

 

“Only to answer my question, young man, and don’t you even think of being sarcastic with me.”

 

“No, Sir.  No sarcasm intended.”  Ron pushed his chest out a bit more if possible.

 

“So, you understand my order?”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

“Stay away from the lady’s flat.”  The judge wagged a finger at him.

 

“I will, Sir.”

 

“You will appear in my courtroom three weeks from Tuesday at nine in the morning to face the charges of Assault.  If you need representation, I would suggest you get it or contact the court for help in assigning someone to you.  I assume you’re not going back on duty?”

 

“Colonel Shacklebolt has put me on desk duty, your honor.”

 

“Fine.  That should be sufficient.”

 

“Thank you, Sir.  Am I free to go now?”

 

“Yes.  I’m releasing you on your own recognizance.  Don’t disappoint me.”  Randolph looked up toward the door.  “Auror!”

 

Philips popped his head through the door crack.

 

“You may remove the bindings on the prisoner.”

 

Philips nodded and did as ordered.  Ron rubbed his wrists that now sported a rosy ring where the invisible rope had been.

 

Harry was waiting down the hall when Ron exited the judge’s office.  Two sets of troubled eyes met in a moment of understanding, Ron approaching in long strides.

 

“So, what did he say?” Harry asked.

 

“I have a court date in three weeks.  He placed an Order of Protection on them.  I’m not allowed to go near them.”

 

“Them?”

 

“Hermione and the dickhead.”

 

“Why Hermione?”

 

“I don’t know.  I couldn’t get a word in edgewise without finding myself warming the stone floor at Azkaban.”

 

“Fuck, Ron, I’m so sorry.  If I hadn’t called you in on this…”

 

“Are you shitting me?  I’m your partner.  You think I would have stayed away?”

 

“Well, no, but I still feel responsible.  I should have arrested him right then and there.”

 

“You know you did the right thing.  I was hurt, Hermione was defenseless.  We had to leave.”

 

“Then we should have healed the bastard more.”

 

Ron spun Harry around by the shoulder nudging him to move and they walked back toward the main lobby.    
  


“That was my decision, not yours.  Besides, it’s worth it just knowing I busted him up before he could get to her.”

 

“What do you mean?  Get to her?”

 

“I mean he was going to do something bad.  I don’t know what, but he looked crazy and he was going for Hermione.  I know it.  If I hadn’t tackled him when I did, he might have really hurt her.”

 

“This jerk has got me really confused.”  Harry continued to walk along Ron’s side as they got on the lift.  “He’s all sunshine and daisies one minute and then…well, it’s like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”

 

“Doctor who?” Ron asked, folding his arms across his chest as the lift jerked down.

 

Harry made a fleeting gesture.  “A Muggle movie character.  This guy who was all proper and civilized by day and a madman by night.”

 

“Yeah, that sounds like him alright.  I knew he was a piece of shite from the moment I met him.”

 

“I just don’t understand why Hermione would be involved with a man who is treating her like crap.  She’s really intuitive when it comes to people.”

 

The doors opened and they stepped out.  “Yeah, I know.  I think it’s this illness or whatever you want to call it.  She just isn’t in her right mind, you know?  That’s why I knew we had to get her out of there.”

 

Stepping up to the Floo, Harry grabbed the powder.  “Did you hear that curse that the other wizard tried to use on me?”

 

“Um…” Ron’s brows knitted with thought.  “Something like Exeter or…”

 

“Yeah.  I just can’t remember.  He gave me the creeps.  Had that same look in his eye as…”

 

Harry didn’t have to say the name, Ron knew all the horrors they had faced with Voldemort and Harry didn’t speak of him much, preferring to leave it in the past.  

 

Harry met his eyes.  “It was like he was enjoying the wand play – looking forward to throwing that curse and watching it affect me.”

 

“There are lots of sick people in this world.”  Ron agreed.  “So, you going home or what?”

 

Probably because of the normalcy of their walk through the Ministry corridors – the same as they did every day – Harry appeared shocked standing there with the Floo powder in hand.  The realization that Ron couldn’t come to his house had finally struck.

 

“Damn…Ron, I’m sorry.  It just didn’t hit me until now.  You can’t come back to the house can you?”

 

“No.  It’s alright though.  As long as I know Hermione is safe.  I’ll just get a hot shower, grab something to eat and hit the pillow.” 

 

“So, I guess I’ll see you at work tomorrow?”  Harry asked, looked depressingly resigned.

 

“Yeah.  I’m on desk duty.  I guess you’ll have to take him in now on your own.”

 

“I’ll get him, don’t worry.  Williams will help.”

 

“You just take care of her, okay?” Ron’s brows rose hopefully.

 

“Of course.  I’ll owl you or Floo call if anything changes.  See you in the morning.”

 

Harry stepped into the Floo and was gone in a flash of green.  Ron released a deep breath, a weeks worth of decision and indecision bearing down on him.  So many things had happened in such a short span that trying to narrow in and focus on any one item was literally impossible.  It was a mish-mash of worries and feelings, mysteries upon emotions that prevented him from even moving from the spot.  The empty fireplace seemed totally uninviting and Ron felt an urge to find another bottle of Ogden’s, but luckily the memory of his recent hangover still banged in his head.

 

He needed a distraction, but wasn’t sure what to do.

 

Unfortunately, that distraction manifested itself within the green flames before him as it stepped from the Floo, wearing a ridiculously tempting mini-skirt, red heels and gold hoop earrings the size of York.

 

“Oh, Ronald.  I heard the news and I came as soon as I could.”  Diane ran to his arms.

 

Ron stood like a post, his arms straight as she hugged him, unable to comprehend how his life could be anymore messed up.

 

Diane stepped back.  “I’m sorry, sweetheart.  I acted so foolishly before.  Daddy told me what happened.”

 

“Diane, what are you doing here?  I thought after we spoke…”

 

“Yes, I know.  I realize how selfish I’ve been.  Hermione is your friend and you were doing the right thing and here I was being jealous when I should have been supportive.  You were completely right for saying what you did.”

 

“I was?”

 

“I hope you’re not too mad at Daddy.  He was only doing his job, but he did try to help you because of me.”

 

“He did?”

 

“Of course.  He could have sent you to Azkaban, but he knew it would be horrible if the news leaked out that his daughter’s fiancé was incarcerated.”

 

Ron stumbled back a step.  “Fiance?”  Ron wasn’t sure if his hands were raised in surrender or defense.  All he knew was that he had to put something between him and her and his hands seemed the only thing available.  “Diane.  I thought I was clear about this before.  We’re not engaged.”

 

“I know.  I heard you.”

 

“Then what…?”

 

“I did it to save you.”  Her face turned more serious, the usually bubbly personality fizzled down to a tepid pool of concern.  “If Daddy knows that we’re not together, he might not be so lenient.”

 

Ron’s hands finally dropped to his sides and he looked at this woman as if he had never seen her before.  Under the veil of ignorance and naivety there seemed to lurk a tiny bubble of genuine intelligence.

 

“So, you were pretending?”

 

“Yes and no.  I don’t have to pretend about my feelings for you.  If Daddy misconstrued those feelings for something else, well, that’s his cross to bear.”

 

If Ron could have found a chair, he would have fallen into it.  So dumbfounded was he at the words escaping her full lipstick-covered mouth.

 

“I…I don’t know what to say.  Um…thank you, but this doesn’t change what I said before.”

 

“You’re welcome and I know.”  She rose up on tip-toes and kissed him on the cheek.  “God, you are so hot.  I don’t know if I can resist.”

 

Ron wasn’t sure if this was another lure or a farewell.  Either way, he remained leery and kept his face serious.  “Try.  Try real hard.”

 

She slapped his arm.  “Oh, you are such a flirt.”  She turned.  With long strides than only accentuated her barely-covered arse, she strode off in the opposite direction.

 

“Where are you going?  The Floo is right here.”

 

Without turning back, she called out.  “I think I’ll walk home instead.  It’s not far and I have some thinking to do.”

 

Ron’s good judgment weighed against his desires to put himself as far away as possible.  There was a dark wizard on the loose.  Besides, the moment she stepped onto the streets of London, a red flashing light would go off attracting any male in twenty miles with a screeching cry of  “sex for the taking.”  Ron knew he couldn’t let her walk home alone and he jogged to catch up.

 

“Diane.  You shouldn’t walk alone.  It’s not safe.  Please, take the Floo.”

 

She didn’t bother looking at him.  “No, I’ll get all dirty again and I just washed my hair.”

 

He grunted to the ridiculousness of personal safety versus hair care.  “Then I’ll walk you to the designated Apparition spot.”  He stepped in front of her just as she reached the main doors to the public entrance, forcing her to stop.

 

“I’d really rather walk.  I’ll be fine.  I’ve walked many times before.”

 

Ron felt his stomach tumble in resignation as she shoulders sunk.  “Then I’ll walk you home.”

 

“You don’t…”

 

“No arguments.  I’m an Auror.  Consider this some form of official protection.”  He pushed the door open and she walked through.

 

Within minutes they were strolling through the streets of London, engaging in somewhat pleasant chit-chat.  Ron was surprised at the difference in her and yet still held no desires to change the status of their relationship.  She seemed far more attractive as a person when she wasn’t trying to sell her sexuality to him and for a moment he considered that she might actually make a decent friend if she could manage to keep her hands off of him.

 

The walk was short, as Diane had described and he stepped up to her door and she offered another peck on the cheek before going inside.

 

The night was still, but even so, they never heard the click of the camera that went off just yards away.

 


	15. Chapter 15 - Ruminations

  
Author's notes:

Again, thank you to my readers for all the insightful reviews and to Indie for keeping those rogue commas at bay!

I found another song that reminded me of Ron and the events in this chapter so I tacked it on at the start, just in case you'd like a moment to reflect.

You've all waited so patiently for Ron to make a move.  Well, here's his first.

* * *

Chapter 15 - Ruminations

 

No one thought I was good enough for you  
  
Except for you  
  
Don't let them be right  
  
After all that we've been through  
  
'Cause somewhere over that rainbow  
  
There's a place for me  
  
A place with you 

 

Maybe _I'm_ not, but you're all I got left to believe in  
  
Don't give up on me  
  
I'm about to come alive  
  
And I know that it's been hard  
  
And it's been a long time coming  
  
Don't give up on me  
  
I'm about to come alive   
  
No one knows what we've been through  
  
Making it ain't making it without you

 

~ Train, My Private Nation

 

 

 

Taking Diane’s cue, Ron walked home.  When he finally shuffled into his flat, nearly forty minutes had elapsed, giving him a chance to sort through the day’s events.  Hypnotically, he marched into the bedroom, stripped off his clothes and showered.  The water could have been scolding hot, but Ron barely felt it.  In fact, when he stepped out, his skin had a rather reddish glow, but he ignored it and pulled on a t-shirt and some pajama pants.  Sighing, he trudged down the hall, his sock-covered feet leaving trails of contemplation in the carpet piles.  Stopping near the barely-stocked kitchen, he stared at the loaf of bread on the counter.  Ronald Weasley could recognize hunger pangs months before they arrived and he knew his body wanted nourishment, but her face flashed in his thoughts and his body’s cravings turned to an abhorrence of food.  Rather than tempt his stomach’s reflex action, Ron decided that empty and calm would have to provide the same satisfaction for the time being.

 

Glancing left, he focused on the roll top desk that his parents had given him.  It was his only real piece of nice furniture and it housed all his important documents.  It also housed a few secrets, items he kept under lock and key not because of any legal or financial value but for the purpose of reflection.  With several determined steps, he pulled the small silver key from its secret hiding place in the kitchen and marched to the desk, unlocking the top.  The slatted wood rolled back to reveal stacks of parchment, work commendations, his lease agreement and various letters.  He knew without looking through the slots, exactly which one he wanted.  Pulling out the stack of envelopes, he sat down and shuffled through them, pulling out the first letter Hermione had written him after leaving for university.

 

 A couple of hours passed as Ron re-read every letter she had sent him, his heart no longer closed off to her obvious ruminations of loneliness.  Why had he never noticed it before?  Maybe the sting of her departure had numbed him to such feelings or maybe he was so wrapped up in his own rejection that he never read between the lines - never caught the underlying theme in all her letters. Every single letter managed some tribute to his abilities, personality, looks.  How he overlooked it was unbelievable.  Each letter could have received an award for the most encouraging of psychological efforts in lifting him up and yet each also carried its share of sadness.  She loved school and yet missed her friends and family.  She longed for learning, but not nearly as much as she longed for loving.  Ron felt his eyes opened for the first time to the hidden meaning behind Hermione’s words and the bitter truth of his seriously lacking response.  He began to see how she might have been taken in by the attentions of this Muggle and began to blame himself even more. 

He’d been dead to her.  Not in the physical sense, but emotionally, his replies had droned with the flaccidity of a corpse.  They were flat, detached – going through the motions of writing – letters.  It’s not that he didn’t feel things for her, because he knew at the time that he did, but it became clear with each subsequent letter than Hermione had slowly given up on him as the warmth of his words, his flirtatious tone was replaced with the monotonous motions of daily living.  She must have mourned covertly for months before finally finding John and moving on.  The scary part was that he had mimicked her in every way, his own heart slowly falling apart until his letters stopped, pronouncing her dead to him.    

Finishing the last letter, he watched a drop of water hit the page and smear her signature.  Wondering at first if his roof had a leak, he looked up only to feel the tingle of salt-water slide along the contour of his nose.  His body had become so anesthetized to his own pain, that the tear leaving his eye seemed to surprise him as it fell.  He pulled in a stuttered breath as he sat back, the letter trembling in his hand as he read the final hope-filled line.  

“Love, ‘Mione.”

 

 He whispered, trying to control his jerky breathing.  “She still signed it with love.  I gave up on her and now she’s giving up all together.”  His eyes watered to the point he could no longer read her words and it made him angry and frustrated and resolute all in one second.  He pushed the rolling chair back and stood up, furiously wiping his cheeks.

“No!  I won’t allow this!” he screamed at first to the air around him, to the pictures of his family on the wall and then specifically to the framed photo of a seventeen year-old Hermione sitting on the sideboard.  He snatched the picture up and spoke to it.  “No!  You are NOT going to die.  You’re going to live!  With me!  Do you understand?”

 

Setting the photo on the desk in front of him, he stuttered a breath, scratched his cheek and sniffed, giving the pain a moment to escape his pores, cleanse him of the torment.  He got up and paced his flat, a plan hatching as he wove through the furniture.

 

 “How do I make her understand?  How do I make her fight for it?  She has to know that I’m going to be there for her.  I have to make her believe.”  His eyes floated absently over the apartment, searching for his next step.  Then they spied a black, nylon case sitting on the floor next to the closet. 

Harry had given him a laptop computer for his birthday, but Ron never used it, adhering to an all magical lifestyle when possible.  Now, however, it became the most useful tool he could think of, drawing it from its case, he flipped the lid open and pressed the button to start it up.  He had to prepare himself for a Muggle life and this would have to be his first foray into that world.  The one thing Harry had shown him – that he remembered - was how to search the internet and Ron began typing in every Muggle term he could recall, reading up on automobiles, televisions, mobile phones, BBC, subway systems and airplanes.  Hell, if Harry had managed to rig up the Auror department with Muggle trappings, he could certainly manage to implement a few in his personal life. 

He didn’t really have a plan.  What he did have was a goal.  He would go to her.  Protection order or not, it wouldn’t keep him from telling her how he felt.  He would do his best to help restore her magic, but if it truly came to it, he’d live a Muggle life beside her.  

*** 

 

 Hermione woke in the middle of the night, not unusual for her as most nights went unslept.  If it wasn’t a fever, or the chills, it was that eerie feeling of being watched, something Hermione now realized she had been spot-on about, the bruise marks on her arm proving it.  However, this time she felt comfortable and safe.  Still, something caused her to wake.  A twirling in her stomach, a sense that someone out there was calling her.  At first she listened, considering that maybe in her sleep someone in the house had uttered her name.  Instead, all she heard was the buzz of central air conditioning in the air.  With a slight smile, she realized it was probably Harry’s doing.  Ginny would have just placed a cooling charm on the rooms.  Just looking around Harry’s house, she knew his Muggle upbringing hadn’t worn off completely.  He was living a mixed Muggle and magical life, a phone beside her bed, electric lights, but magical pictures moving in their frames on the dresser and sticking charms holding up the paintings. 

Depression was beginning to seriously impact her.  Lying in bed, useless, the high point of her day was keeping her body temperature in check.  Upon waking, she managed enough strength to get out of bed and use the bathroom, but that usually drained her and she would slink back to the bed or sofa.  Even with being grateful for Harry and Ginny’s care, she could barely crack a smile to show her appreciation.  It seemed like a waste of energy – she needed to conserve, to conserve every last ounce of magic until there was nothing left.  

 

Shaking her head, she couldn’t believe that the only things that made her feel alive were the horrible traumas and violent incidents that had plagued her life ever since she had been cursed.  Apparently, the adrenaline in her system was the only thing that gave her a boost.  Ginny tried a strengthening potion earlier in the evening and it helped for a little over an hour – long enough for her to sit up and eat by herself.  Even the food gave no joy.  Music turned to white noise, the written word a useless waste of ink, the sun only existing as a means to rotate the earth back to the empty black of night.

 

Contemplating death became her favorite past time.  The bright spot in her day had been seeing Ron and even that came with a price.  As if she could feel any worse, a raw acidic burn caressed her gut with the knowledge that she had been the cause of Ron’s arrest.  Not only was she leaving this world, but she was going to take him down with her.  Ginny was as worried as she, and for a few minutes, Hermione thought she had convinced Ginny to transport her to the Ministry and straighten this all out, but with preternatural willpower, Ginny managed to stay behind and care for Hermione with all the grace of Molly Weasley’s motherly skills.  Her clothes were changed, she bathed, her pillows were fluffed, food prepared, reading material at the bedside, music nearby, photos of all Hermione loved within viewing range, new nightgown – Hermione couldn’t ask for better care.  And best of all, she felt safe.  For the first time in weeks, she could relax and not worry about John’s strange behavior and his dark, brooding cousin.

 

She had Ron and Harry to thank for that.  She shivered, but not from her own lack of heat, but from the memory of Ron viciously punching John in the face repeatedly.  At first she cringed and felt sorry for the massive cuts and bruises on John’s face, but as he repeated such foul and bitter things, she began to root for Ron more and more, seeing him react the same way to his ramblings.

 

Honestly, she thought Ron had moved on.  He had Diane and a wedding to plan, his family, Harry, his job.  She stilled.  His job.  Of course, the reason he came along…he was Harry’s partner.  He wouldn’t leave his partner to go it alone.  That explained it.  Hermione did her best to keep her head, to find the cool logic of the situation.  Because, if she didn’t, the suggestion of him being there for her, coming to the rescue not out of duty, but out of friendship or maybe more – that might melt the ice around her heart.  Her pelvis throbbed once thinking of how he glanced at her sitting by the roadside in her thin cotton nightdress.  Yes, she saw how he looked.  There was more than just concern in his eyes.  It was lust, pure and simple.  And when he held her in his arms, like she weighed nothing, his hardened chest and rippling stomach muscles pressed against her and she nearly wet her pants with desire.

 

What a sick, twisted thing to do.  Lusting after an engaged man who is trying to keep you from harm.  At least it was one part of her body that functioned normally and at this point she was thrilled to have anything remotely reaching average operating quality.  As strange as it was, she’d accept orgasmic cravings twenty four seven if it meant she could feel alive.  One day soon, he’d leave to start his life with Diane, and Hermione would go back to her books.

 

She turned her head on the pillow, staring at the picture of her and Ron.  “Here lies Hermione Granger, loved her books, lost her love.”  

 

*** 

 

Sleepy wasn’t a strong enough word.  Ginny was way past that as her fuzzy slippers slid across the kitchen floor at three in the morning.  She was tempted to think the word ‘exhausted’ but it brought to mind visions of running marathons or hard labor in a field under scorching sun for days on end.  This was a different kind of exhaustion, not so much the physical as the mental, the emotional.  True, she had spent a good portion of the last couple of nights lying awake so being sleepy was certainly part of the equation.  However, the cup of tea that she was brewing would do little to perk her up.

 

Food seemed an unnecessary luxury.  Besides, she had a sneaking suspicion that she’d feel much worse if she gave her already churning stomach something to work on this morning.  Harry had tossed and turned all night, occasional mumbles of his friends’ names and incoherent blurts of danger.  Ginny knew his job often entailed putting himself in less than ideal situations, but he seemed particularly restless the last week.  

 

Flopping down in a chair, she glanced over at the note keeping company with the crumbs on the kitchen table, her name scrawled in her mother’s handwriting on the front.  She picked it up and stared at it for a long moment, dreading the thought of actually opening it up.  Molly Weasley had a kind of telepathic intuition when it came to her only daughter and lately the stress of keeping herself under the radar had been just one more brick on the wall mortared to her shoulders.  The one good thing – no, good was not the appropriate word – the one item on her stress list that was currently absent was the fact that Harry was far too occupied with other thoughts to be directing amorous intentions towards her while she slept.  It’s not that she didn’t like his attentions – which were numerous.  She was, after all, a young woman who lusted gratefully for her ‘hot as lava’ man.  But it was that gnawing sense of impropriety – the one that sounded a lot like her mother whispering in her ear – kept her on guard.  Something told her that the moment she totally forgot herself, allowed any little slip of the tongue, muttered any rumor of her and Harry’s sleeping arrangements, all would be lost.  Molly Weasley would fly in like a hurricane imploding over a slipping fault line and haul her off to the chastity belt salesman.  She knew the moment was coming soon when her temper wouldn’t hold, she’d mimic her brother’s foot-in-mouth specialty and blurt out to her parents with unintentional, graphic, embarrassed detail how Harry had taken her virginity with zest some months before. 

 

Sliding a thumb under the flap, she broke the wax seal and opened the letter, dreading what she might see.  Instead, to her somewhat selfish delight, her mum was asking about Hermione.  Sometimes she forgot how her mum worried about everyone and their brother.  She had long ago been crowned the chief towel-twister in all of wizarding England.  Of course, Hermione had gained family status years earlier so she couldn’t blame her.  They were all worried – past worried – they were despondent over Hermione’s deteriorating condition.  Trying to keep a smiling face had become a kind of game to see who could hold it the longest in Hermione’s presence.

 

Twice that night, she woke up to check on her ill house guest.  Ginny’s body jerked awake as if demanding she snap out of some horrific nightmare, her heart pounding and yet unable to remember anything.  The first check, with her chest still thumping in concern, revealed a blissfully sleeping friend.  Ginny had an overwhelming maternal instinct as she pulled the blanket up on her, for she looked so thin and in need of care.  The second time, however, Hermione was ice cold to the touch, shivering in the bed and Ginny ran to her room, grabbed her wand and waved a near frantic warming charm over her trembling friend, not knowing what else to do for her.  The healers were searching for a donor.  Meanwhile, all they could do was keep her stable and comfortable.

 

After dealing with Hermione, sleep seemed useless and Ginny lie in the bed, watching moonlit shadows wave over the plastered ceiling.  Without even trying, her thoughts instantly shifted to worrying about Ron.   Her overzealous, passionate brother had once again let his emotions steer him into trouble.  Harry had not been able to help, but at least the judge was somewhat lenient.  Besides his legal problems, Ron appeared to be battling his own demons and finally coming to the conclusion that he needed Hermione in his life.  She could have told him that years ago, but considered that he probably needed to figure it out on his own.  Too bad it had to happen at such an inopportune time.  Her heart ached just watching Ron and Hermione suffer through the jigsaw puzzle of their broken hearts.

 

Deciding to try and get her mind off of that, she steered her focus to work.  With her research she felt that progress was being made.  All of the other things in her life remained out of her control, but her studies of this strange virus and her search for a cure fell into the realm of personal discipline.  This small portion of her life had given her the drive to keep going.  When morning arrived, she would head to the hospital and try her new approach to testing.

 

Finishing her now tepid tea, she checked on Hermione once more and tip-toed back into her room, sweeping the black hair back from her darling boyfriend’s head as he slept.  For the moment, he snored quietly and she didn’t want to wake him.  In fact, watching him sleep was one of her favorite activities.  However, in her desire for just a tender touch of comfort, he stirred, one bleary green eye recognizing her and closing again with a relaxed motion.  She couldn’t help but smile at this one good thing in her life.  After years of recovery, bad dreams and snap-to-it-senses that would put you at wand point in a heartbeat, Harry was finally relaxing, smiling and truly loving.

 

“Wha time is it?” he mumbled, twisting his head against the pillow.

 

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to wake you.  I couldn’t sleep.”

 

He reached out an arm, swept it around her hips and pulled her down onto the bed.  Just as the mattress bounced, Harry groaned.

 

“What is it?” she asked looking at his slightly scrunched up, moonbeam-lit face.

 

He grunted.  “It’s just my back.  I think I pulled a muscle or something when I was dueling with that idiot.”

 

“Where does it hurt?” she asked in that motherly tone and didn’t hesitate in straddling his hips.

 

“Right between my shoulder blades.”

 

Ginny wasted no time, pushed his t-shirt up and started kneading the muscles between his shoulder blades with the practiced care of a masseuse.  Harry groaned in response, a puff of air escaping his lips.

 

“You aren’t using your wand?” he asked, clearly surprised she wasn’t applying some spell to relax his muscles.

 

“Now what fun would that be?” she replied, leaning down so that her mouth was right next to his ear.

 

She dug a thumb in a bit deeper.

 

“Ow!  None at all.  This is much more…ow…fun.”

 

Ginny frowned at the knot she felt under the cleft of his shoulder blade and she stroked it smooth and deep with the pad of her thumb, trying to work it out.  Harry continued to moan and groan, his head squishing into the pillow with each stroke of her hand.  Without intending to, Ginny found herself rocking against him as the heal of her hand took over the effort.  She was concentrating on her work so diligently that she didn’t notice anything being amiss.

 

“Gin.”

 

“Hmmm?” she asked, her other hand inadvertently slipping up the nape of his neck and into his hair.

 

His voice was still muffled by the pillow.  “Was it your intention to distract me from the pain by giving me an enormous hard on?”

 

“What?”  She stopped, examining his now red streaked back from the friction of her massage.

 

Harry rolled underneath her and she shimmied up to give him room, still appearing innocent in her expression.  Before she could even grasp Harry’s meaning, a growing erection pressed into the inside of her thigh and Harry grabbed her wrists and pulled her down on top of him.

 

His mouth found hers quickly as his arms wrapped around her waist and he pressed his hips up into her pelvis.  He had no qualms about expressing his interest.

 

“Harry!  Hermione is in the next room.”  She tried to squirm back.

 

“So?”  He moved his lips down her neck, his hands snaking up the skirt of her nightgown.

 

“So, what if she hears us?”

 

“What if she does?  Hermione isn’t that naïve.”

 

“I never said she was.”  Her tone took all mocking away.

 

“You’re serious?” he asked, stopping his forward motion.  “I mean…you actually don’t _want_ to?”  Harry looked utterly melancholy.

 

“It’s not that.  Of course, I want to, but, well…actually, I wanted to ask you about that curse again.”

 

“Now?”  He dropped his arms to the bed in exasperation.  “It’s three in the morning.  I mean, I’ll wake up to make love to you anytime Gin, but seriously, conversations like this need to take place during daylight hours only.”  He yawned, blinking slowly.

 

“It’s just that something you said about the words in it.  Tell me again?”

 

He sighed.  “Um…I think he said extrap or extirpart or something like that.”

 

“It sounds like a variation of extirpare or extirpatus.  We studied those words in herbology seventh year because it had to do with pulling a plant up by the roots.”

 

“Okay?  So what would plants have to do with this curse?  Was he planning on repotting me or something?” he mumbled.  “Come snuggle with me.”  He pulled her down again, this time rolling to his side and spooning in behind her, his cock still firm against her arse.

 

“Very funny.”

 

“What?” he groaned.

 

“Re-potting a Potter.  Are you trying to be witty?”

 

“I’m trying to sleep.”  She suddenly found his palm cupping her breast.

 

“This is not sleeping, Harry.  Besides, I want to look those words up in the Book of Spells, Third Addition and it happens to be at work.”

 

“You’ll get it in the morning.”  He pushed against her again.  His hand slid under her knickers and began a slow caress of her arse.  “Right now let’s just forget everything.”

 

*** 

 Ron woke at four am, not his usual routine and certainly not a time that agreed with his body’s conditioned sleep patterns.  Never-the-less, he sprung out of bed, awake and expectant.  The plan he had hatched the night before kept cycling through his mind and his sleep had been broken and dream-filled as if his mind couldn’t stop racing through the same visions.   

His normal morning routine went by with practiced ease, but an hour later he couldn’t even remember having showered or dressed.  Instead, images of Hermione, how she might look or act or say – they churned over and over, replacing any other thoughts or considerations.  Rolling up a large, fluffy quilt, he shrunk it and pushed it into his pocket before grabbing his broom and shuffling out the door into the early morning dew. 

Being summer, the nights were cool but not cold and five am hovered as the lowest temperature of the day, after the sun’s absence had left the ground to chill.  In her weakened state and with her inability to maintain her body temperature, Ron had been determined to take all steps necessary to make her comfortable in his planned foray into dawn. 

Beyond anything else, he wanted to get her alone.  They had already lost too much time, being separated and then with her illness and his job and then the arrest.  He’d never had a chance to truly talk to her since their little visit by the fence at the Burrow.  And, _that_ , he now lamented, had been a very disjointed conversation, not what she deserved.   He mounted his broom and kicked off, his speed increasing so that the night air whipped the hair back from his face.  It had the effect of clearing his head of those pangs of remorse and instead filling him with hope. 

Leaning into the broom, he pushed it faster, unwilling to wait a moment longer to get to Harry’s house and start what he prayed would be a new phase of his and Hermione’s life.  The sky was just beginning to rouse, the ink of night paling to a deep gray, the housetops now faintly visible to the naked eye.  Soon Harry’s roof came into view and Ron made a quick decent behind it, feeling the buzz as he slipped through the wards, hopping off his broom and leaning it against the back porch before reaching into his pocket. 

Not wishing to wake Harry or Ginny, he opted for using the physical key to turn the lock.  Being an older home, the floors had plenty of squeaks and creaks, but Ron did his best to tread softly up the staircase.  Approaching Hermione’s bedroom door, he placed his hand on the knob and instantly his wand began to vibrate in his back pocket.  Being an Auror, Ron knew that this was a warning that an order of protection had been breeched.  He expected it, but was prepared to do whatever was required to get Hermione alone and if this meant he ended up back in the brig, well it was a risk he was willing to take.  It continued to vibrate and Ron knew his time was limited.  Aurors would be dispatched to the home within minutes. 

Hermione slept so peacefully that Ron hated to wake her.  Tenderly, he stroked the back of his hand over her cheek and waited a couple of seconds.  She stirred, but her eyes remained closed.  Ron leaned over and whispered in her ear. 

“Hermione, wake up.” 

“Hmm?” she cooed, still blissfully at rest. 

“Hermione, we have to go somewhere.  I’m going to carry you, alright?”  He pulled the duvet down, but immediately pulled out the quilt he had brought along.  With a quick warming spell, he tossed it over her, lifted her up carefully and wrapped the quilt neatly around her fragile body, cocooning her in a neat little package.  Ron wasn’t about to take chances with her getting cold.  He’d seen how miserable she could become and didn’t want to relive the experience. 

Pulling her snugly into his chest, Ron made for the door, but was met by a half-awake, surprised-looking Harry, his hair even more disheveled as normal. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, his wand drawn and vibrating in his hand.  “I just had a patronus show up in my bedroom to inform me that you had violated your restraining order.” 

“Violating away,” Ron quirked, still holding Hermione close.  She appeared to be waking up finally. 

“Ron?  What are you…?” 

“Harry, I need some time with Hermione.  It’s important.”  He countered around Harry’s shoulder and started down the stairs. 

“What am I supposed to say when an army of Aurors show up at my door in about thirty seconds?”  

Ron called out from the bottom of the steps.  “You’re Harry ‘Save the World’ Potter.  I’m sure you’ll think of something.  Sic Ginny on them.  That should slow them down.”

 

“Ginny’s not here.  She went in to the lab early.”

 

 “Oh, well, then it’s all up to you.  Thanks, mate.”  Harry remained, flustered in his pajama pants at the top of the landing. 

“Ron?” Hermione asked again as Ron wound past the kitchen table and toward the back door. 

“Trust me, Hermione.  Please.” 

“I do trust you.  I just don’t understand what you’re doing here.” 

“You’ll know everything in a few minutes.” Slipping out the door, Ron carried her out a few yards in to the lawn and carefully set her on the chaise lounge that rested out in the grass.  It was covered in a soft sheen of dew and you could almost make out the bright blue flowers in the nearly morning light. 

Ron ran back, grabbed his broom, swung his leg over and hovered easily to Hermione’s side.  Her eyes grew wide as he leaned over and started to pull her onto the broom.  With her arms wrapped up in the quilt, she had no way to grab hold of anything and was clearly panicked. 

“Ron, what are you doing?  I’m going to fall!” 

Ignoring her pleas, he pulled her swiftly onto the broom, holding her tight against his body with one arm, her head tucked confidently under his chin. 

He spoke slow and sure.  “Hermione, I promise on my life, I will _never_ let you fall.  Never.”  He hoped his words exuded confidence for he didn’t want her to be afraid.  He wanted this to be a wonderful experience for her and yet he knew his time had run out.  To his delight, she relaxed into him and allowed his heart to pitter patter just a tad more than usual at the rush of having her this close. 

“Easy now.”  He leaned forward just a bit, taking the broom up above the trees, but rising in a slow incline so that she wouldn’t tip.  Behind him he could hear the faint cracks that meant Harry was now facing a room full of his associates.   He wasn’t sure what Harry would say or do, but he trusted him to find some way to give him just a little precious time.  Moving out over the gray and black rooftops, he pushed the broom only enough for a steady ascent.  It took about three minutes of flying and they finally reached the spot he had in mind.  It wasn’t far from the Burrow.  In fact, he had stumbled up on this particular location during another early morning flight some months earlier. 

“Ron, what are we doing?” she asked, her mouth tucked slightly into the quilt, but her hair rippling in the breeze. 

He leaned his head over her shoulder so that his breath tickled her ear when he spoke.  “Shhh.  I want you to watch something with me.”  Holding the broom steady with his thighs, he wrapped his other arm around her, one on her shoulder, the other at her waist.  She didn’t flinch and Ron closed his eyes, sinking into such happiness that even the impending dawn seemed dreary. 

Just as planned, a burst of yellow broke over the horizon and Hermione gasped.  “Oh, look at that.”  At her command, he opened his eyes and could almost feel the tickle of her soft eyelashes bat in the bright light of morning.  It was like feathers, like angel kisses  touching the mist and he couldn’t help but smile.  “Look, Hermione, it’s the start of a new day.” 

“It certainly is.”  She confirmed, her voice mellow and welcoming. 

***  

Hermione felt an immeasurable sense of calm come over her.  It may have been the beauty of the moment, for the view was utterly breathtaking.  The leaves on the trees below turned bright green awash in the new daylight, sparkling like a carpet of emeralds below her.  A slight breeze blew through her hair, a fine mist dusting her skin as if she were sitting in a cloud, but Ron had her wrapped up so tight with a warming charm that she never even experienced the slightest of chills.  And that was the precise reason she knew that he was the source of this…she wasn’t sure what to call it.  Peace perhaps. 

Feeling frightened at first, now her body relaxed in the strongest set of arms she had ever felt.  When did he become this strong?  This capable?  This… 

There weren’t words to describe it.  She nearly wanted to thank the wizard that had cursed her if the result was having him hold her like this.  The previous years of separation and longing melted away as if they had just been a dream and she was back with him, really _with_ him.  She could almost pretend that they were years younger, trying to decide what to do with their lives and her plans for university were still in the future.  A million questions filled her head.  Would she have gone if she knew then what she knew now?  Was getting an education as important to her as she had once imagined, or was this feeling of belonging more central to her life than she could have ever dreamt?  Now, without her magic, with her life literally hanging by a thread, what really mattered?   

Learning had always been an integral part of Hermione’s life.  It filled a specific need in her emotional make-up and her formative years would have been empty without it.  However, staring at this beautiful sunrise and being held like this…it gave her pause to re-examine the value of such things in her life.  What good was an education when you had no way to use it?  Possessions – they took up space and would one day be nothing but a pile of junk.  To really understand the reason for your brief existence meant looking at the people around you.  There was so much more than just the steps you took to move through time.  It was about how you did it and who you affected and if you loved. 

Her eyes began to water with combined grief and shame for she had squandered precious time not using it to love those around her, to show them how much they mattered, how valuable they were.  And right now, Ron was doing exactly what she hadn’t had the foresight to do.  

He sighed and his fingertips moved subtly against her shoulder.   It sounded like a pleasant sigh, but then the thought struck her.  Why was he doing this?  She looked absolutely miserable, thin, pale and she certainly wasn’t very good company right now.  Being around her these days had to be about the dreariest of things to do.  Was she just fooling herself into thinking that his warmth and care meant anything more than just pity?  Theirs was a deep friendship and not one that she would expect him to toss away.  Even with their separation, he was frequently on her mind and she suspected – hoped – that she was on his.  But, to what degree?  Her mind daydreamed of all kinds of wonderful possibilities, a future full of love, laughter and children with the man behind her, but they would have to remain that – daydreams. 

He had a girlfriend now…no, a fiancée.  And what kind of incentive had she given him to alter his course?  None.  She moved home and was so concerned with appearance, being embarrassed at never having had a solid relationship away from him, she had to toss John into the picture.  That was the mistake of a lifetime.  She didn’t love the man.  In fact, she didn’t even really like him, but he had been a convenient fill-in for a gap in her life that should have been filled by Ron.

   Now Ron’s life lay before him, all kinds of possibilities, whereas hers was slowly winding down.  Her own sigh leaked out and she had to admit, it didn’t sound as pleasant as his.  But, that was her reality, her fate.  The cards had been dealt and she got the joker.  So, even if this was a gesture of friendship, maybe even a tinge of pity – something she normally hated – she was willing to accept it if only to wallow in the moment of possibilities for just a little longer. 

“I want you to make me a promise, Hermione.”  Ron spoke, shaking Hermione from her meanderings.  His voice rang firm, but soft in her ear and his arms pulled her to him just a bit tighter. 

“I’m not sure if I can,” she replied, unwilling to hurt him with any more broken truths. 

“Oh, I know you can.  And, in return, I’m going to make _you_ a promise.  I promise that I will come by here and take you up every morning if you want to watch the sunrise together.” 

“You don’t have to promise me anything, Ron.  I haven’t done anything to deserve any promises from you or anyone else.” 

“You don’t have to do anything to deserve this.  You already deserve it.  But you have to promise me that you’re going to be here, alive everyday, waiting for me.” 

The tears began a slow trickle down her cheeks.  She tried to swallow, but the lump was too thick. 

“Now, promise me.  Right now.” 

She couldn’t speak.  Her heart felt ready to burst.  She tried to nod, but even that felt difficult. 

“Hermione…” Ron began, but before he could say another word, a whooshing sound approached from both sides and they found themselves surrounded by four Aurors on broomsticks. 

“Auror Weasley.  You are in violation of the restraining order placed on you by Judge Randolph.  I am instructed to bring you in to face the judge.”  The first, rather robust looking Auror stated with absolute certainty.  The second Auror, the young one with hazel eyes on their right seemed more concerned with the tears covering Hermione’s face. 

“Ma’am, are you alright?  Has he harmed you?” 

The third Auror pivoted on his broom without another word.  “I’ll arrange for a healer.” 

“No!” she finally squeaked out, finally gulping down the dam of ache that had been lodged in her throat.  “I’m fine.  I’m not hurt and you shouldn’t be doing this!” 

“It’s alright, Hermione.”  Ron interjected.  “I’ll take you back.”  Ron grabbed hold of his broom and turned it back toward Harry’s house, moving slowly with the Aurors flanking him on all sides.     

“No, it’s not alright.  You shouldn’t have arrested him in the first place.  He was trying to help me.  I don’t want any restraining order placed on him!” 

“You’ll have to take that up with the judge, Ma’am.” 

He still held her close and spoke softly so that only she would hear.  “Don’t get yourself worked up over this.  I’ll straighten it all out and we’ll talk later.  You just keep your promise.” 

Within a few minutes Ron had safely landed in Harry’s yard.  The Aurors insisted on helping Hermione off the broom and immediately bound Ron’s arms, tossing his broom to the side and pulling him back as the hazel-eyed Auror helped her inside.  She couldn’t look away, her eyes trained on Ron as his were on hers. 

“Promise me, Hermione.” 

***  

Ron didn’t want to forget.  He would try to keep the vision of her face, her eyes, the warmth of her body pressed against his.  The fact that these three Aurors were distracting him from that vision created a huge sense of frustration.  He knew these men rather intimately.  Kreighton, the bigger one exuded confidence, but Ron knew it was all for show.  Godfrey and Myers at least had the decency to look uncomfortable at arresting their superior officer.  In a way, he was proud of them.  He had trained Godfrey and Kreighton himself and recognized that they were doing as instructed, something he had drilled into their heads over and over.  The chain of command had to stay intact. 

Godfrey had sported a mask of sweat on his forehead and his eyes darted nervously, clearly avoiding Ron’s gaze. 

“Godfrey, relax.  You look like you’re going to have a coronary,” Ron commented, walking easily along side the others. 

“But, Sir.  This isn’t right.” 

“Godfrey, shut up,” blurted Kreighton, the tallest of the three.  “Do your job.” 

“He’s right, Godfrey.  You should know better than to engage in conversation with the suspect.  Remember how I told you they can mess with your mind?” 

“Yes, Sir, I remember.” 

“Good, because I’m messing with your mind right now.” 

Godfrey turned a sickly pale and met Ron’s eyes for the first time, the student having committed a major error in the presence of the teacher.  He appeared more scared of being fired from his job than anything else. 

“But…” 

“Look lads, I’m not upset with you for doing your job.  You see, I don’t have anything to hide.  I wasn’t at fault and therefore, I know that I’ll be cleared in the end and all will go back to normal.  So, you don’t have to worry that I’m going to jump down your necks and create hell for you later on.  In fact, I’ll give you a nice commendation.  Myers, excellent work up there when you turned to get a healer.  That was a good call.  Kreighton, you were clear in your intent and sounded confident with your instructions.”  They turned the corner, heading down the hall that led to the chambers of the Wizengamot members. 

“Thank you, Sir.”  Kreighton replied and then suddenly flushed realizing he probably shouldn’t have said anything. 

“I’m going to be unavailable for a little while, but I need the three of you to pay attention.  We have a dark wizard on the loose.  He attacked Lieutenant Potter at Ms. Granger’s flat.  He’s in collusion with another man, a Muggle named John Rasmussen.”   

Kreighton tugged on Ron’s arm and they stopped in front of the door with the gold plate that read ‘Judge W.R. Randolph – Wizengamot’ pulling his wand out to release the bindings, maintaining his stance with Ron at wand point. 

“I need you three to keep an eye on Ms. Granger and to report anything odd to Lieutenant Potter.  Do you understand?” 

Godfrey and Myers both nodded emphatically, but Kreighton maintained his professional aire.  He knocked on the door. 

“Enter!” the voice bellowed from within. 

Kreighton turned to Ron, his hand out.  “Wand please.”  It was customary for anyone entering a judge’s chamber to do so unarmed.  Ron knew this and reluctantly turned so that Kreighton could pull the wand from his pocket just as Kreighton pushed the door open.  Any other prisoner would have had his wand taken from him long before.  So, in a way, his direct reports were still demonstrating a certain degree of respect for their superior.  Ron stepped through finding Judge Randolph seated at his large mahogany desk. 

“Well, Mr. Weasley, back so soon?”  He looked back down at his paperwork as Ron stepped fully into the room.  Kreighton remained at his side, stiff, at attention.  Godfrey and Myers waited in the hall.  “Thank you Auror…” Judge Randolph looked to Kreighton, waiting for a response. 

“Kreighton, your Honor.” 

“Auror Kreighton.  Good work.  You may go.” 

“Yes, Sir.  I’ll be right outside.” 

Kreighton nodded stiffly, but Ron couldn’t help but notice the sideways glance at him before he left the room. 

“Mr. Weasley, was I not clear when you were before me yesterday?”  

Ron pulled himself up to attention. 

“Yes, Sir, you were perfectly clear.” 

“So, then why was my breakfast interrupted by a call that you had violated my order to stay away from Ms. Granger?” 

“Sir…”  Ron’s brain fumbled for words, knowing full well that the Judge wouldn’t like anything he had to say. 

“Yes?  I’m very interested in your explanation considering I had to sit and watch my daughter cry her eyes out yesterday for hours.  She seems to think that Ms. Granger is the reason you have terminated your relationship with her.” 

“Sir…Ms. Granger, well…she’s…” 

The door swung open and, at once, everyone’s wand began vibrating.  “Here.”  Hermione’s voice sounded strong and sure.  Ron whipped around, shocked to see her actually standing in the doorway.  Of course, Harry had an arm propped under her elbow ready to help. 

“Your honor, may I please speak with you?” Hermione asked, her legs wobbly below her, but her voice determined. 

The judge certainly noticed, his nose crinkling up in a sort of bewildered annoyance.  “What’s wrong with _you_?”   

“I’m not well at the moment, but I would really appreciate a few minutes of your time.” 

“Very well.”  Randolph waved her forward and Harry stepped with her as Ron quickly pulled the chair around for her to sit.  Randolph waved his wand and the vibrating stopped. 

Kreighton remained in the hall, but Harry flashed a weak smile at Ron and quickly left, closing the door on the way out. 

“Your honor, I feel there’s been a mistake made and I’d like the opportunity to clear things up.” 

“A mistake you say?” 

“Yes, Sir.  You see, I have not been well and the plaintiff in this case, John Rasmussen has been one of my primary means of support in the past couple of weeks.  I admit that this is my fault, but I haven’t been very attentive to the fact that Mr. Rasmussen has been involved in some questionable practices in regards to my health and has been in fact, lying to my friends and family, who have been attempting to care for me.  I called Lieutenant Potter yesterday, requesting his assistance in vacating my flat and Auror Weasley accompanied him.” 

Hermione’s skin began a slow deterioration into white, her hand exhibiting a subtle but steadily increasing tremor as her voice faltered. 

“Mr.  Ras-s-mussen attacked Auror Weasley when he entered the flat.” 

“And you witnessed this attack?” Randolph asked, his hands folded neatly on his desk. 

“Not directly, but I could hear it in the other room.” 

“Ah, well, I have often heard of cases where what is seen and what is heard are two different things.  Miss Granger, how do you really expect me to believe anything you have to say?  It’s apparent that you have a personal agenda when it comes to Mr. Weasley.  You’ll do or say anything to stay in his good graces, will you not?”  He didn’t give her a chance to respond.  “My daughter has told me all about how since your return, Mr. Weasley has lost his focus.  I must say that in a way I’m glad because I would rather know this about him now than after he became my son-in-law.” 

“Son-in-law?” Ron exclaimed, realizing Diane’s lies and yet needing to object.  “Your honor, I never…” 

“And you never shall.  I think some time in Azkaban will give you a new appreciation for life on the outside and perhaps some respect.” 

“Your honor, don’t you think you sh-should recuse yourself from these proceedings?” Hermione interrupted, her tone completely serious, despite the slight stutter.  Judge Randolph stared blankly for a second, stunned that she would even know the meaning of such a word. 

“It’s c-clear you have a personal vendetta against Mr. Weasley in regards to his relationship with your daughter.” 

“Ms. Granger, are you accusing me of some kind of impropriety?” 

“I’m not accusing you of anything, Sir.”  She slumped slightly. 

“I’ll have you know my credibility is above reproach.  I do not take my position lightly.” 

“If that is the case, then Mr. Weasley’s r-relationship with your d-daughter should have no bearing on this matter.  You see, I did witness something later.  J-John ran into my room and shouted vulgar things about me and he hit Ron right in front of me.  Auror Weasley was acting in self-defense.  He was coming to my aid and I-I do-do not want any re-restraining order placed a-against him.”  Her eyes rolled a bit and she started to tip.   

“Hermione.”  Ron knew something was wrong, she was beginning to tremble violently and without asking permission, he ran to the door, threw it open and darted out into the hall, calling for Harry who he knew had to be in the vicinity. 

“Stop that man!” yelled Judge Randolph. 

Ron didn’t count on Kreighton who, true to form, stepped in front of him as if attempting to capture an escapee.  Ron bested him in height, but only by an inch and Kreighton was no small man.  The two of them were pretty evenly matched.  Except when it came to the near tornadic force displayed when it came to Hermione’s safety.  He wasn’t about to let the man stand in his way.  

“Harry!” he called down the hall, bumping into Kreighton who had attempted to stop him.  

 

“Auror Weasley.”

 

 “Move it!”  He yelled at the Auror, his thoughts focused on getting help.  Kreighton held his ground, his eyes flashing to the judge, knowing his performance was being monitored. 

“Stop!  Sir, you cannot pass.” 

At that precise moment, Hermione crumpled out of her chair, her shoulder hitting the floor with a thud.  Kreighton pulled out his wand, attempting to bind Ron before he could make a supposed run for it.   

“Get out of my way!”  Ron shouted, trying to run back to Hermione’s side.  Kreighton appeared a bit flustered, his instincts probably telling him to get help for the fallen lady while Judge Randolph’s scrutinizing glare instructed him to take Ron into custody.  All the while he must have felt like a traitor to his mentor and superior officer.  His hesitation was all that Ron needed. 

As Ron brushed by Kreighton’s side, he easily gripped the less experienced Auror’s wand and pulled it from his hand, a little trick he had learned a while back.  Kreighton’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head in panic as he stared at his empty fist. 

It appeared that Hermione’s tremors were turning into a full-blown convulsion.  She jerked awkwardly on the floor.  Ron began to bend down and help when Judge Randolph shouted “take this man into custody” and Kreighton, the dutiful soldier, put his hand on Ron’s shoulder. 

Ron spun on him faster than he could have imagined.  The extreme volume of his voice was only eclipsed by the unquestionably official, commanding verbage.  “Belay that order, Auror Kreighton!”   

“But…” 

“I am your superior officer and I am giving you a direct order!  Do you understand SOLDIER?” 

“Sir, I…” 

“Now see here…” Judge Randolph tried to intervene, pounding his fist on the desk. 

With one infuriated pivot, Ron had Kreighton arched backward over the desk, his body nearly prone, with Ron’s forearm trapping him across his torso.  With a gunslinger’s agility, Ron flipped his wand, handle over tip, into the air with one hand, gripping it like a hunting knife about to be punched into some unsuspecting carcass.  Calling out a sharpening spell, the tip of the wand converted into an arrowhead and he slammed it right through Judge Randolph’s sleeve, through part of the hood on Kreighton’s robes and into the desktop next to the Auror’s head.  The sharpened wand tip hit with such force that Robin Hood himself couldn’t have done any better.  Both men were stuck and both appeared completely caught off-guard and quite terrified of their situation as the handle reverberated back to vertical.   

Ron’s voice seethed with anger.  “Hermione needs help and if you try to interfere I will make you sorry you ever heard the name Weasley!”  Without waiting for a response, Ron dropped to his knee and quickly pulled Hermione’s head into his lap, holding her as close as possible.  Harry flew into the room seconds later, not seeming to even notice the strange ensemble of pinned officials on the desk. 

Godfrey and Myers came barreling in right behind Harry and as expected, both called for help immediately. 

Her body lay slumped in his arms and Ron looked absolutely desperate as he pleaded with her.   

“Hermione, oh, come on, sweetheart.  Please, stop this.”  He stroked the hair back from her temple.  “Hermione, you promised.”  Burying his face against her cheek, “Don’t you dare break your promise to me!  Do you understand?”  Ron began rocking her, biting his lip as she shook in his arms, his voice catching.  “I can’t watch all those sunrises without you.  Now, please, Hermione, I’ll do anything.”  He glanced up.  “Harry, do something.” 

“What do you want me to do?” he cried back, his face full of alarm.  “We need to get her to the hospital.” 

“A healer is coming!” Godfrey shouted from the doorway, looking to his left and sure enough, seconds later a man in a blue tunic bounded into the room.  Hermione’s tremors began to slow and abiding by the healer’s instructions, Ron cautiously laid her on her back and remaining on the floor, scooted away, still rocking as they attended to her. 

Kreighton found his feet, cleared his throat and removed the wand from Judge Randolph’s sleeve with a generous yank.  The Judge himself appeared shocked at the medical emergency happening in his chambers and stood with a hand over his mouth as they continued to work on her.  Within minutes, she was transported to St. Mungo’s, Harry at her side, leaving a stunned Ron nearly beside himself on the floor, holding his head and trembling. 

Kreighton glanced at Ron’s pitiful expression, then to Judge Randolph and finally to his two associates, all of whom looked utterly aghast.  With two firm steps, he came to stand beside Ron and reached a hand down toward him. 

“Ron, come on.  Let’s get to the hospital.” 

Ron turned his red eyes up to his subordinate who stared back with compassion and support.  He felt so drained, a useless shell of a man without her.  He truly needed the hand or maybe it was just the gesture of friendship.  Either way, he gave it to him and stood up, sucking in a couple of breaths to control the rampage of tears that he barely held in check. 

“Your honor, I’d like permission to escort Auror Weasley to the hospital.”  Kreighton’s request was no-nonsense, but the intent was clear. 

“Of course, Auror…”  Judge Randolph seemed to have snapped out his official role and back into that of human being.


	16. Chapter 16 - Revelations

  
Author's notes: Thank you to Indie for your usual great work and equally fun attitude.  For my fantastic readers - I hope this answers a few questions.  


* * *

Chapter 16 – Revelations

 

Unable to sleep, Ginny left the house at three in the morning, intent on resuming her lab work.  For a hospital as busy as St. Mungo’s, this particular night rang of peaceful silence, a good indication that all patients were resting comfortably.  Ginny’s thoughts rotated around a comparison of blood samples, nuclidite counts and odd curses that sounded like ‘extirpare’ – so that the lift ride to her floor went unnoticed.  Stepping out into the unsecured lobby area of the fourth floor, she waved her wand routinely, opening the outer doors, then called the spell to gain entrance into the inner sanctum of the Infectious Spells Department.  This particular floor did not house patients and, as such, was completely empty.  Ginny hoped she’d get some quiet time to run her tests and check the previously collected samples to see if any mutation had occurred.

 

Her hand rested inside her pocket, guarding the blood samples within.  After Ron’s exposure in Prague, Ginny had immediately tested a sample of his blood and was anxious to check it again this morning to see if there were any signs of the now deadly disease.  She knew there was something suspicious about that lab, the informant used to work for a state run facility, and therefore, had a pretty good idea that what he saw wasn’t considered modern, monitored, sterile conditions.  Obviously, it was Ron’s job to go and investigate the scene but after he returned and told her about his exposure to some powder on the table, and particularly, with his scratched arm, a relentless guilt trip had sailed through Ginny’s heart the past couple of days.  

 

The term ‘anxious’ meant something altogether different to Ginny than to, for example, her mother.  There was no equivalency test when it came to the two.  Ginny tended to keep cool in most situations.  She generally looked on the bright side – believed in the best.  To be truthful, Ginny held the prize for being able to convince others that all would be well using nothing but her smile and some well chosen words.  She was so accomplished, in fact, that she often convinced herself in the process.  Molly had a knack of voicing her concerns almost immediately and then repeating them to the point of instigating riots in the streets and mass hysteria.

 

On this particular morning, for example, Ginny had already assured herself that Ron’s sample would look normal, she would report back on this fact and move on to more pressing tests.  Maybe it was the suggestion that worrying never did anyone any good, or just her being tired of that feeling in general after years of experiencing it – after all her Mom held the gold medal on that event.  Somehow, even with repressing it, the suggestion that she could be responsible for Ron’s death still burned in her gut.  With this disease on the rampage and with two deaths now on the books, the possibility, however remote, became much more threatening.  In the typical Ginny tradition, she wouldn’t allow herself to think about it, pushed it back, locked it down and put a happy face on for her brother.

 

Fidgeting in her pocket as she rounded the corner to her lab door, she felt the second vial and knew why she had taken it.  It was a spur of the moment, somewhat rash and truly emotionally driven decision.  Watching the blood pour out of Ron’s vein, her thoughts had flashed to Hermione’s need and without even contemplating Healer Parker’s worldwide search, or the registered database or even Ron’s own desires on the subject, she drew that second sample.  Not that she didn’t think Ron would help if asked – more that Hermione might spontaneously combust if she even suggested testing Ron for such an assignment.

 

And now, Ginny knew exactly why she had drawn it.  She had to know.  Even though his blood type was wrong, she felt compelled to test for the magical type – perhaps out of her own curiosity.  Like the virus sample, she had already convinced herself of Ron’s negative to Hermione’s positive.  And in her quest to heal her friend, she truly wasn’t thinking of any other ramifications.

 

Having followed this same route everyday for the past couple of years, Ginny strode through the barren corridors almost on autopilot.  Without looking up, she reached out and yanked on the handle to the lab’s door.  With a grunt, her body jerked back in surprise.  The door was locked, a large sign posted in the center.

 

‘Closed by Order of the Ministry – No admittance without the expressed written permission of Judge W.R. Randolph.’

 

Ginny stood rooted to the spot for several seconds, her brain playing catch up to her rapidly blinking eyes.  The large black print held no question, but Ginny re-read it several times none-the-less.

 

“The Ministry?  Why would Judge Randolph…”  Ron’s conversation with her from the previous afternoon went off like a siren in her head with visions of an infuriated Judge Randolph comforting his distraught daddy’s girl.  “Oh, no…Ron…what did you do?”

 

The empty floor left no one to question, no complaint department or supervisor to ask.  As if disbelieving her own eyes, she jiggled the door again, the two vials bouncing in her pocket.  The disbelief was morphing into frustration and quickly pushing through to anger.  Without even thinking of the consequences, she whipped out her wand.

 

“Alohomora.”

 

Nothing.

 

Several courses of action flashed past her, waiting until morning and notifying her supervisor, running to Harry, blasting the door off its hinges.  She realized, that last choice was very reminiscent of her brother and probably a bit fool hardy.  

 

“The Ministry my arse.  They aren’t keeping me out of my own lab!”  Ginny turned and jogged down the hall to the small library they kept on this floor.  Luckily, it was open and she marched in, going directly to the bookcase on the right, fourth shelf.  She knew exactly which book she wanted and with two fingers, pulled it out by the binding.  The heavy book dropped with a clap onto the nearby table and she threw open the cover and fingered through to a spot about two thirds into it, her hand scanning the page for the charm she wanted.  It only took a few pages of searching and she was marching back down the hall, her knuckles clenched around her wand.

 

With a twirl of her wrist and the appropriate charm, she could hear the tumblers in the lock turning, clicking into place until suddenly the door unlatched, a tiny gap announcing her success.  With a quick look at her surroundings, she went in and closed it behind her quietly.  “Keep me out of my own lab…” her mutterings continued as the sound of her shoes clapped on the tiled floor.

 

Martin’s desk was already cleared, a few of the drawers sitting open to reveal their empty interiors.  His lab area still held a few items, but it was a sure bet he had removed his belongings.  Ginny felt a chill wash over her, tiny prickles going down her spine as she glanced at her own lab space.  Nothing appeared out of place, but she was terrified to look and find that any of her precious samples had been tampered with.  With a deep swallow, she rushed over to the table, noting the time on the clock.  The first shift of employees would arrive around six.  She had about two hours and forty five minutes to do what was needed, relock the door and get out before being spotted. 

 

  _Why all the hiding?  You work here, Ginny._  

She shook her head in denial to her own ramblings.  Something told her that even being on this floor might get her in trouble and she hastily pulled the vials from her pocket and set them in the empty rack in front of her.  This would have to be her quickest experiment ever and there was no time for errors.

 

Just to be safe, she opened the drawer and pulled out her notes.  With the rushing adrenaline and mad pounding of her heart, she knew that having some instructions written down could only help.  Step by step, she went through the movements, swabbing the dishes, calling the charms, slipping the slides in place and viewing the microscopic results at a much higher magnification level than any Muggle microscope could produce, finally pulling the old samples and checking their progress.

 

With as much methodical calm as she could manage, Ginny followed her well documented protocol, but within two and half hours, she still had several steps to complete.  The angry, determined – Prewett side – wanted to just stay and get caught and then really light into whomever might have the audacity to question her right to be here in the first place.

 

Biting her lip, she tried to repress the Weasley side that warned her it was best to get out now, her leg tapping nervously under the table as she watched the seconds tick by waiting for her last sample to spin in the centrifuge.  Her lungs were starting to do overtime in keeping up with her ramped up heart and panic was knocking at the door, or maybe that was a security guard.  Either way, she grabbed a nearby box and started stacking only the most important samples inside, carefully taping the lids shut and making sure they were labeled.  She couldn’t lose these.  Too many lives were at stake.

 

Picking up the last dish, she waved her wand, calling the charm needed to show the final results.  Her breath stopped mid-stream, no more air would flow in or out for a few seconds.  Ron’s name identified the dish, her own handwriting verifying it was his sample.  The one taken right after he returned from Prague.  What should have been a solid smooth bottom was now scattered with small white pustules and Ginny nearly choked on her own guilt.

 

“Oh…oh, god no.”

 

Her hand shook, threatening to drop the sample she could no longer bear to look at.  The virus was clearly present.  He was infected.

 

Ginny’s eyes watered over, a mad rush of love, concern, guilt, panic and fury all crushing in on her at once.  Setting the sample down, she was forced to sit, just to get her nerves under control.  Frantically wiping at her eyes, she grabbed the vials of blood and added them to the box, laying her notes on top and sealing it shut.  It was five fifty five and she Noxed the lights and pushed the door open just enough to check the corridor.  It sounded all quiet and she exited, resealed the door and nearly ran to the next intersection in the hallway.  Stopping to listen first, she heard nothing and poked her head around the corner, running as carefully as she could with the box in hand.

 

Reaching the lobby, she quickly waved through the protective layers and stood in front of the lift.  Only then did she stop to think.  Where should she go?  If she went back to Harry’s place with this box full of samples, would she be putting him in danger?  She’d already infected her brother and she was determined that no one else would get sick due to her actions.  The Burrow was out and at least Harry had a large enough house that she could do her work in a remote, spare bedroom and lock the door.  Maybe even seal off the ventilation.  The lift stopped and the doors opened, a surprised Mrs. Darby staring back from underneath her neatly piled head of curls.

 

“Ms. Weasley.  What are you doing here so early?”   She stepped out of the lift, her blue dress and white comfortable shoes transforming mysteriously into black leather in Ginny’s imagination.  She felt like a secret Auror spy had just intercepted her at the most vulnerable moment.  It took her a second to come up with a reply.

 

“Oh!  Oh, my…um…Mrs. Darby.  You scared me!”  She waved at her own flustered, pink cheeks, hoping her statement would cover up the noticeable fear on her face.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry dear. Call me Dottie.”

 

Ginny thought a distraction might be best.  “Dottie.  Um…um…oh, I just love that dress!  What…um, I mean where did you find it?” She oozed charm and plastered a smile on her agitated features.

 

“Oh!”  Mrs. Darby giggled like a school girl.  “This old thing?  Had it for years.  I think I found it in a thrift shop in Belgium.”

 

“Well, it’s just darling.  And with the shoes…well, it’s just…”  Ginny danced gracefully through the lift doors, praying they’d close before she could run out of compliments.

 

“You’re too sweet.”  The outer gate began to close and Ginny felt her alarm-filled heart slip out of stampede mode.  “Ms. Granger, what’s in the box?  Did you…?”

 

The inner doors began to close and Ginny shouted her last through the retreating slot.  “Just some books, have a great…”  The doors closed.  “Day” she finished much more subdued, her body slumping back against the lift wall in exhausted relief.  

 

“Dammit!”  Books.  She forgot the one book that she needed to check out that curse.  It would have to wait.  Now she just had to get back to Harry’s without anyone catching her and finish the final test.  It was a million to one shot, but worth trying for even if Ron were sick, Hermione might be saved.

 

*** 

 

It really was no surprise to wake up in a hospital bed.  To Hermione it almost felt comforting, something she could count on with increasing regularity.  She almost chuckled to herself. 

 

  _Hospitals and feeling horny.  The two things that feel normal._

“What are you smiling about?”  Harry sat in the bedside chair, a smirk on his face.  “You know, if you’re going to keep doing this, _I’m_ going end up in this hospital and so are Ginny and Ron.”

 

“Not like I plan it, Harry.”

 

Harry got up and walked to the side of the bed.  “I know.  I was just joking.”

 

“I know you were.  I’m sorry.  Speaking of, where are Ron and Ginny?”

 

“I owled Ginny.  I’m sure she’ll be here soon.”

 

But, before Harry could answer about Ron’s whereabouts, the door swung open and the familiar face of Healer Parker smiled at her.

 

“Well, Miss Granger.  I was hoping that I’d be writing to you at home and not visiting you this soon.”

 

“Um…I’ll just go.”  Harry edged up from his seat, discomfort written in his eyes.

 

“No, you can stay.”

 

“Are you sure?” he paused, inches above his seat.

 

“Harry, please…stay.  I don’t want to be alone right now.”

 

With excruciating slowness, Harry eased back into his chair, his weary eyes now focused on the Healer who ran his wand over her twice, lifted the blanket to take a closer look at her bruised left arm and finally pulled a green vinyl chair up next to Harry along side the bed.

 

He folded his hands in his lap.  “I wanted to update you on our search for a donor.”  Hermione’s ears perked up and Harry leaned in, the Healer noting the movement.  “I take it he knows?”

 

Hermione glanced at Harry, unable to answer that question and yet fairly certain that Ginny had told him.  His replying gaze whispered hesitance, uncertain if he was supposed to know and not wishing to get Ginny in trouble and yet, there was this sympathy radiating from him.  Only someone who truly knew her circumstances would look as softly as that.  Finally, Harry nodded to the Healer who immediately shot his eyes back to Hermione.  You could see him putting together some kind of puzzle – like who were the important people in Hermione’s life and how they impacted her.

 

Shifting in his seat, Healer Parker cleared his throat.  “We have located one man in Australia who is a match, however, he is quite elderly and not in very good health.  Before even approaching him, we think it best to continue our search for someone a bit um…younger.  We are still researching America and parts of Russia as we have exhausted all registry members in Britain, Iceland and most of western Europe.”

 

“That’s not good, is it?” Hermione asked, shifting her gaze to Harry for confirmation.

 

“It’s neither good nor bad.  It just is what it is.  I’ll contact you as soon as we have a match that’s viable.  Meanwhile, I’m beginning to think we should just keep you here.”

 

“What for?”

 

“Well, you had a seizure today which means that the drop in nuclidites may be affecting your nervous system.  If your levels drop below twenty, we may have to provide life support.”

 

“What?  I don’t want to sit in some hospital and be kept alive by…well, I mean what do you do?”

 

“It’s a combination of Muggle and magical methods, but we’ll keep you breathing and keep your heart beating.  We’ll feed you.”

 

“And then what?  I just lie here like a vegetable for the rest of my life?”

 

“Well, there would always be hope that we’d find a donor.”

 

The door opened slowly during this last statement and a stunned and bedraggled looking Ron frowned at what he had overheard.

 

“Donor?  What does she need a donor for?  What’s wrong?”

 

Before he could even finish the sentence, two wands started vibrating.  

 

“Dammit,” whispered Harry as he got up and started for the door, trying to gently escort him out of the room.  “Come on Ron, let the Healer discuss this with Hermione.”

 

“But, what does she need a donor for?” he argued as Harry pushed him back.

 

“Come on Ron, Ginny needs to talk to you…outside.”  The door closed behind them with both the Healer and Hermione turning back to look at each other.

 

Healer Parker pursed his lips, his expression indicating he had heard this before.  “He doesn’t know?”

 

“No and I don’t want him to know.”

 

He let out a breath.  “I’m going to give Ms. Weasley the recipe for a strengthening potion.  It’s quite potent and it should give you a bit of a lift, but it’s also somewhat addictive so we can’t keep giving it to you on a regular basis.”

 

Hermione nodded.  She’d take the addiction if it at least allowed her to move.

 

“I’m sorry there isn’t more I can do for you.  We’ll keep trying, of course.”

 

“Of course.”  Hermione repeated.  “So, I can go home…I mean, not home, but I’m staying with Harry and Ginny.”

 

“Yes, but if you seize again, then that’s it, you’re staying here.  Try not to exert yourself and try to eat.”  His expression left no room for argument.

 

Hermione neither agreed or disagreed, but instead swallowed roughly with a look of resignation.  She was out of time.

 

*** 

 

“Harry, you aren’t telling me everything.”  Ron shrugged quite violently from Harry’s guiding hand.  “What the hell’s going on and I want the truth.”  His voice rang with contemptuous rage and Harry’s hand drew back defensively as his passionate best mate spun on him in the hall.

 

“Can we just talk about this at home after we get Hermione settled?”  Harry realized a bit too late the impracticality of his statement, but it didn’t seem to matter to Ron whose brows were knotted with irritation.

 

“NO!  I want some answers.”  Ron tilted menacingly toward him, his jaw locked, eyes on fire.  “Now.”  Any normal wizard, nay, any normal human being, would have backed away in fear, but Harry knew the lamb that hid beneath the lion’s mane of red.  He also knew exactly which triggers to pull when it came to controlling that maddening roar.

 

“Fine!”  He pushed him down the hall, trying to put enough distance between them to stop the warning on the restraining order.  “But you have to calm down.  Do you think Hermione would be pleased to find us talking about her very personal and private affairs in an open corridor?”

 

Just as expected, Ron’s eyes softened and his shoulders slumped ever so subtly.  “No, of course she wouldn’t, but we can’t go to your house and I don’t want to leave her here alone.”

 

The sound of soft footsteps shuffled in from the left.  “I came as soon as I got the owl.”  Ginny approached, panting, coming out of a full jog.  Her eyes darted to Ron for a quick moment, lips pressing together tightly, brown eyes nearly bulging out of her head and Harry easily diagnosed a condition known as ‘Ginny wants to talk-itis.’

  

  _Oh, lord, she’s going to explode in a minute!_  

For a second, he watched her flushed cheeks retreat from heated pink to ghostly white and Harry almost thought she would faint.  Ginny must have sensed his concern for she met his gaze only long enough to throw her arms around him.

 

Her grip was unlike any he had felt and he nearly faltered from the intensity, his arms squeezing her tightly in response.  Harry knew to keep it to himself, for if she had wanted to say anything, the entire hospital would have probably known.  He whispered in her ear as she hugged him.  “What’s wrong Gin?”

 

“Later,” was all she said before releasing him and wrapping her arms around a similarly surprised brother.  In fact, it took Ron a half second to respond and pat her on the back, even when she refused to let go after an adequate number of seconds.  Ron’s eyes met Harry’s in confusion and concern, the pats now turning to strokes over his sister’s back who appeared despondent, her eyes squelched shut and head pressed into Ron’s chest.

 

“Ginny?” Ron asked, still rubbing her back.

 

Finally, she released him and took a step back, appearing as if she was in the battle of her life to keep it together.  “Where is she?”  Ginny asked, weariness in her voice.  

 

Harry tossed his head in the direction of the door just opposite them.  Ginny let out a shuttered breath and marched rather stoically into Hermione’s room.

 

“What was that all about?” Ron asked, flexing his neck in response to the fierceness of her embrace.

 

“No idea, mate.  She looks upset.”

 

“We’re all upset.  Look, my brilliantly planned morning has turned to shite.  I’m not feeling very well and I’m not in the mood to put up with your bullshite so, tell me about this donor thing.”  Ron renewed his demands most fervently.  “What does she need?”

 

Healer Parker strode out of Hermione’s room, his features calm but thoughtful.

 

“Healer!”  Harry jumped at the opportunity for a substitute when it came to explaining all of this to his best mate.  Parker jerked his head up as if Harry had caught him deep in thought.

 

“Yes?”

 

Harry did the introductions, not sure how else to start the awkward conversion.  “Um…Healer Parker, this is Ron Weasley.  Ron, this is Healer Parker.  He’s been helping Hermione.”

 

“Nice to meet you.”  Ron offered a hand and the Healer took it.  “Thank you for everything with Hermione.”

 

Parker blinked at him, donning that same ‘where do you fall into the grand scheme of things’ look.  

 

“Um…I hate to ask you this, but could you try to explain the reason for the donor to Ron?”  Harry asked, his muscles tight as if ready to run the moment he got the signal.

 

“There are privacy issues.  I can’t reveal plans for her care to others without her permission.”

 

“Alright.  Just…just wait a second, okay?  Both of you, stay here.  I’ll be right back, I promise.” Harry held up his index finger and getting a quick nod from Ron and a confused, but generally agreeable one from Parker, he walked back into Hermione’s room.

 

Ginny appeared so upset that the tables had turned.  Hermione held her hand and rubbed her back, hiccupping sobs stuttering out.  The caregiver was suddenly reduced to sobs as the patient took over the consolation duties.

 

“Tell me,” Hermione coaxed.

 

“Gin, what’s going on? Why are you so upset?”  He rushed to her side, stroking a hand down the back of her head and gently wiping the tear track off of her cheek.

 

“I’m sorry, Harry.  I’m so, so, sorry.  This is all my fault.  Please don’t hate me.”

 

Harry and Hermione’s eyes met, both feeling emotionally hijacked by Ginny’s statement.  Harry cradled her trembling jaw, forcing her anguished eyes to meet his.

 

“I could never hate you, Gin.  Now, tell me.”

 

“Ron’s been exposed.”

 

“Exposed?” Hermione asked in a low scratchy voice.

 

“The sample from Prague.  It’s the virus.  I told him to be careful!  I shouldn’t have let them send him!”  She sobbed more fiercely and Harry pulled her off the side of the mattress and into the visitor’s chair.  He’d never seen her cry so openly or tremble like this and it truly unnerved him.

 

“You’re sure he’s been exposed?”  he asked, kneeling in front of her.

 

She nodded, her fingers dancing in knotted strain.  

 

Harry fell back, sitting on the floor and raking a hand through his already messy hair.  Any happy faces that Ginny and Harry had been putting on for Hermione’s benefit had all evaporated with this news.

 

“What can he do?”  Hermione asked, her already dreary eyes turned hopefully toward Ginny.

 

“Nothing,” Ginny shook her head.  “We don’t have a cure yet and they closed my lab!”

 

“What do you mean they closed it?”

 

“There was a big sign on it” – she raked her hand across the air – “’Closed by order of the Ministry.’  I had to break in just to get my samples.”

 

“You what?” Harry nearly shouted.  

 

“I had to, Harry.  I had blood samples from Ron in my pocket and I needed to check all my experiments.  Don’t they know how important this is?  Idiots!  When I get hold of whoever did this, they are going to be so sorry!”  Harry couldn’t help the sense of relief that tipped the corners of his mouth.  The fire had returned to Ginny’s voice.  Now she was getting angry, and an angry Ginny was a dangerous Ginny.  Harry would take hostile over weepy any day, for seeing Ginny sad was beyond the bounds of his control.

 

“Alright…”  Harry tried his best to get a grip on the next step in this already frantic day.  “I’ll check on the lab and find out what’s going on.  Can you stay here with Hermione?”

 

Ginny nodded.  “Healer Parker said we could take her home.  He’s going to give me a potion to use.  It should give her a bit more strength.”

 

“Can you get her home without me?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Good.”  Harry got to his feet, reached out a hand and rested it on Hermione’s wrist.  “I have to deal with Ron.”

 

Hermione’s brown eyes flashed with the greatest intensity Harry had seen in weeks, a question staring at him.  He wasn’t sure if he twitched or looked odd or what he had done, but Hermione read his intentions immediately.  “No, Harry.  Please.  Don’t tell him.”

 

“Hermione, he needs to know.”  Harry squeezed her hand in assurance.  “The Healer can’t tell him anything unless you authorize it.  So, either I’m going to tell him or the Healer can, but it’s up to you.”

 

“Harry, if he’s sick, do you really want to burden him with all this, too?”

 

“Oh, no, I’m sorry you can’t play that card.  He’s not nearly as sick as you and besides, he doesn’t even know about it yet.  He’s too worried about you.  There is no way I’m going to put this off.  After everything he’s gone through in the past couple of days, he deserves to know the truth and I’m sure that even if they find a donor, nothing will change except that he’ll be just as happy as me and Ginny that you have a chance to be well again.”

 

Hermione struggled for words, the corners of her eyes tight.  “It just isn’t fair.  Please, just leave him out of it.  I’m having a hard enough time dealing with all this.  I can’t deal with his emotions over the subject as well.  It’s just too hard.”  Tears began to stream down her cheeks.

 

Harry’s chest tightened in response to his friend’s pain.  “Hermione, can’t you see that he loves you?  He’d do anything for you.  It was so hard on him while you were gone, but he scraped his heart off the floor and kept going.”

 

“So you think it wasn’t hard for me?” she reared back, the most volume Harry had heard out of her in weeks.  “I missed him so much.  I missed all of you, I was homesick, lonely…” she gulped  “…and all I wanted was to come back.  Getting letters from him was the only thing that put a smile on my face and I realized, that I never should have left.”  Unable to find a tissue, Hermione grabbed the corner of the sheet and dabbed her eyes.  “But it was too late, I had a lot of money and time invested.  My parents convinced me to stay, at least for the first year, but I still looked forward to every letter and then I came home to visit and I was so excited to see him, but he was gone!  Off on some Ministry jaunt.  Oh, I put on a brave face and functioned through the holidays and forced myself to go back to school, never getting what I really needed.  Do you know how hard that was for me?”

 

Ginny had joined in the tear fest, riveted to Hermione’s story.  Even Harry felt a sort of numbness in his limbs, a hard lump forming in this throat.

 

“His letters became less frequent and I knew why.  He had found someone.  How could he _not_ have found someone?  He’s such a wonderful man and I figured it was my fault for being so selfish, when I should have stayed with him.  I don’t even know why I even considered trying to get back with him when I returned.”  
  
”But he didn’t Hermione…” Ginny interrupted, her own eyes red.  “He never found someone.  He was waiting for you.”

 

Hermione shook her head vehemently, buckets of water scarring her mottled cheeks.  “No…no you can’t say that.  He’s got Diane.  I could have had four wonderful years with him, but they’re gone and now I’ll never get it back.”  The sheets twisted in her hand.  “I just want to die and leave him to have a happy life.  I can’t go thinking he still loves me so, don’t tell me that!”  Her anguished face turned to Ginny, years of tortured heart-ache written in her eyes.  “All I ever wanted was to be with him, to marry him and have children and love each other until we were both old and wrinkled.  But, can’t you see?  They aren’t going to find anyone to help me.  Pretty soon I’ll just be an empty body lying here and I won’t be kept alive by some artificial means.  You have to promise me that you’ll convince him to move on, marry Diane and forget me.  I don’t want him worrying about me or hanging around some dreary hospital all the time.  That’s too cruel and I won’t do it to him.  Please, Harry.  I need you to do this.  Please.”  She sobbed, Ginny finally pulling a hand full of tissues from a nearby box for both of them.

 

Ginny, with the earlier conversation obviously clear in her head, tried to object.  “Hermione, he broke everything off with Diane.”

 

“He w-what?” she stammered.

 

“He wants you.”  Ginny argued.

 

Hermione pressed her lips together so hard they turned white.  With a river of tears now on the loose, she turned her head away on the pillow, unable to face the others in the room.

 

Harry cupped his hand over his mouth, doing his best to stifle the very vocal sob about to escape his lips.  For a moment, Harry realized he wasn’t breathing and drew in a deep, trembling breath, Ginny staring at him with the same intense emotions.  Under any other circumstance, Harry would have done anything Hermione asked of him, anything at all.  But he just couldn’t lie to Ron, not about something this important.  Despite Hermione’s pained expression, Harry kissed her on the forehead and left, a great deal on his mind.

 

*** 

 

Ron paced the hallway.  Healer Parker stood with arms crossed a few feet away, watching him intently.  Ron wasn’t sure why he deserved such scrutinizing looks, but it made him uncomfortable.  Actually, this entire day had been uncomfortable.  What really stunk was that he started the day with such high hopes.  Instead, he ended up in front of a judge and Diane’s father to make it even worse!  Hermione was brilliant standing up to the judge and for a minute it almost seemed like she was back to her usual self.  Ron felt a buzz of excitement, a stirring in his stomach, as he watched her in action, but then it sunk rapidly as she deteriorated right in front of him.

 

His eyes darted up to the Healer, who he found was still watching him.  “So, you aren’t going to tell me what’s going on with Hermione, are you?”

 

“It’s not that I don’t want to.  I can’t.  I’m bound by my oath as a Healer to keep such discussions private.”

 

“I know she lost her magic.  I’ve been one of the Aurors investigating the case.  I’m fairly certain I even know who did it, so it’s not like I don’t know anything of what’s going on.”

 

“I understand that and I appreciate your efforts to catch the madman that did this.  It’s truly a horrible thing for her to have to go through and believe me, I wish there was more I could do.  In a way, I’m envious of you.”

 

“Envious?”  Ron stopped his pacing.

 

Healer Parker dropped his arms.  “You can at least feel useful.  You have a suspect to catch, knowing it will give many people closure or at least, relief.  I’ve nothing to do but watch my patient wither and hope for a miracle.”

 

“Or a donor.”

 

“Yes, or a donor.”

 

“But you won’t tell me why she needs the donor.”  The Healer shook his head.  “Can I get tested?  Is it something I can give her?”  Ron asked, stepping a bit closer.

 

The Healer paused, obviously considering how much he should say.  “Are you pure-blood?”

 

“Yes.”

 

The Healer’s eyebrows arched up in surprise.  He clearly hadn’t expected that answer.  “You are?”  Ron nodded.

 

“Has your family’s magical type been registered with the Ministry Health Services?”

 

“Um…I don’t know.”

 

“Well, if you can come down to my office, I could test you.  But you need to understand that being a donor has certain risks and could carry some significant psychological baggage with it for both the donor and patient.  If you were a match, and it’s only a one in a million chance, Hermione would have to be consulted.”

 

Ron frowned.  This was very confusing.  What kind of psychological effects could donating an organ have other than a feeling of helping someone?

 

“Isn’t this needed to save her life?”  Ron asked, still befuddled.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then I imagine she’d be thrilled to find a donor.”

 

“I’m sorry Mr. Weasley, I can’t really explain any more without Hermione’s permission.”

 

“Then get her permission!  I’m sure she’d tell you it’s alright to talk to me.”

 

Harry’s voice cut in, exiting Hermione’s door.  “No, she probably wouldn’t.”

 

“What?” Ron’s attention moved to his best mate who looked as if he’d lost ten pounds and eliminated sleep from his daily routine.

 

“Healer, will you excuse us?  I have to explain some things to Ron.”  Harry asked.

 

Parker’s eyes narrowed, but then appeared resigned to accept it.  “Why don’t you use my office.  End of the hall, turn right, fourth door on the left.”  Parker tossed his head down the hall and Harry chanced a glance at Ron before accepting.  “Thanks.”

 

Harry started walking.  Ron trained his eyes on the Healer once more, before following Harry.  His steps sounded ominously loud on the tile floor as he watched the checkerboard blue and white flash under his feet.  There was an aire of mystery hanging over Hermione and for some reason he had been kept out of the know for too long.  At first he was, indeed, angry about it, but now he simply felt puzzled and a bit hurt.  Hermione had rarely kept things from him, but when she did it was always because she felt it would do him more harm than good.  So, what could be happening with her own health that might do _him_ any harm?  It was baffling.

 

Spotting the sign on the door, Harry walked in and held the door for Ron who followed.

 

Harry rubbed his head and started a similar style of pacing that Ron had just finished.  “Sit down, mate.”

 

Ron’s brows seemed permanently etched together as he dropped into the upholstered chair opposite the large desk in the room.  Every muscle tensed in anticipation.  He tried to prepare himself for a thousand different scenarios. 

 

  _Her heart is failing?  Her lungs?  A new kidney?  I have two kidneys, I could easily give one.  A blood donor?  No…I’m the wrong type._

“Hermione doesn’t want me to tell you this, but I just don’t think it’s fair to leave you out in the cold.  There’s too much at stake right now.”

 

Ron swallowed roughly.

 

Harry continued.  “Healer Parker is a specialist that came in from America when he heard about her problem.”  Ron nodded in understanding, but kept quiet, not wanting to disturb Harry with what seemed a difficult speech.

 

“He’s had two similar cases in the past and was able to cure the patients in both situations with a special…um…experimental…” he air quoted “…procedure.”

 

“And this involves a donor?”

 

“Yes, but not in the sense you’re thinking.”  Harry looked at him and seemed to pale quite suddenly, turned and ruffled his head again, releasing a very deep breath.  “She needs a magical cell donor…” he paused and then continued slowly, his words drawn out and pointed “…a male…pure-blood magical cell donor.”

 

Ron shook his head and shrugged, still trying to put the pieces together.  “Alright.  A male donor.  How do you donate magical cells?”

 

“I hoped you wouldn’t ask that.”

 

“What?” Ron shot back and then a certain degree of enlightenment shown on his face as his eyes grew wide with disbelief.  “You…you mean…oh, no…you don’t…”

 

Harry nodded.  “Yes, I do and she does.  Hermione has a very rare blood type and in order to repair the loss of her magic, she needs magical cells introduced back into her system.  The usual way is through a blood transfusion with someone who has a matching blood type and a matching magical type, but they can’t find any.  That’s where Healer Parker came in.  He had tried using…”  Harry looked as if his throat closed up as he struggled to say the word “…semen to transfer the magic instead of blood.”

 

“Oh, hell.  So, you’re saying she has to…do it…with some bloke in order to be cured?”

 

“Basically, yes.”  Harry finally sat, appearing drained of all his energy.  “Now you see why she didn’t want you to know.”

 

“Blimey.  But…can’t they just donate a sample or something?  I mean she doesn’t have to actually like _do_ it, do it, does she?”  

 

“I think she does actually.”

 

Ron’s words flowed from him as if his own private thoughts were no longer under lock and key.  “…poor Hermione.  But…why would she think that I wouldn’t want her to be cured?  I mean, if this is what she has to do…well, it’s better than dying.  I guess she could live as a Muggle…I mean, if it didn’t get too bad.”  He frowned at Harry.  “Does she not want to get her magic back?”  Then he turned back inward.  “Why wouldn’t she want me to know that she’s going to live as a Muggle?”  Ron was so engrossed in his thoughts, he barely felt Harry’s hand on his back.

 

“Ron.  Think about it.  Remember what I said about how she was so worried on the plane back from Budapest?  Worried that you would somehow not want her anymore if she were a Muggle?”

 

“Want her?  You mean as a friend or…”

 

“Maybe…maybe not.  Maybe more than a friend.”  Harry looked again like he was hiding something, but Ron got the impression that his mate wanted him to solve the riddle on his own and Harry was just the clue dropper.

 

“But if she’s already…you know…been with git boy, then it wouldn’t matter how I felt about her.  She had someone.  He said he was sleeping with her.”

 

“And we’ve already learned that he’s a consummate liar.”

 

“But if they aren’t…then she…and I was…oh, hell Harry.  This is like a bad novel.  I mean, I don’t know what to think.  Does she want me or not?  Is she worried about living as a Muggle or living at all?  Maybe she tried to hold on to git boy because she thought he’d understand that type of life.”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Oh, hell, Harry.  I’ve been such a shite friend.  I need to let her know how I feel.  She can count on me.  I’ll stay with her Muggle or not.  I’ll always be her friend.”

 

“Maybe not for long, though.”

 

“Are you giving up on her?”

 

“Ron, I’m just saying that time is short for both of you and if there are things to be said, you need to say them now.  Can’t you see what this all means to her?”  Harry squeezed his shoulder.  “She wants to be with you, but if she has to do this to save her life, then you won’t want her anymore and she feels like that would be worse than death.  She told us she just wants to die and wants you to marry Diane and have a happy life without her.”

 

“She what?”  He bolted up.  “No.  Did you tell her that I don’t give a rats arse about Diane?  How could she just want to die?”

 

The two men had exchanged places in the all too familiar pacing department.  Harry appeared exhausted and Ron like he wanted to punch a hole in something.  Just then a gentle rap on the door got their attention.  Without intending to, Ron grabbed the handle and yanked the door back quite forcefully, finding a stunned Ginny and Healer Parker on the other side.

 

“What?” he shouted and then saw their shocked faces.  “Is something wrong?   Hermione?”

 

“No,” Ginny replied.  “Can we come in?”

 

“Who’s with Hermione?” Ron demanded, his breathing coming hard and fast.  

 

“She’s resting and a nurse is there with her.”  Healer Parker explained, gesturing for Ginny to go first and then stepping into his own office.

 

“We have some news we need to share with you.  Please sit.”  Parker moved to his office chair as Ron and Ginny sat down, Harry moving aside for her.  “Ms. Weasley, do you want to start?”

 

Ginny was visibly trembling as she turned in her seat toward her brother.  “Ron…remember the other day, I took a couple of blood samples from you?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I was worried about what you had been exposed to in Prague and when I went in to my lab earlier today, I found your sample and…” her lungs exchanged a shaky breath “…you’ve been exposed to the virus, Ron.  You’re infected.”

 

“But I feel fine.”  Ron countered, wide-eyed, shifting in his seat.

 

“Not for long.  It takes a few days to incubate and then you’ll start to notice the symptoms.  Fever, weakness, weight loss.”  She took his hands in hers.

 

“So, what do I do?” he asked, now looking much more worried.

 

“Once you start to show symptoms, we’ll have to quarantine you, and we can try to fight it with various spells and potions.  You’re strong so you may survive, but there’s no real cure at the moment.  I’m working on it.  I really am.”

 

Ron’s cheeks flushed to a deep pink and he released Ginny’s hands and started rubbing the tops of his thighs, his brain suddenly contemplating his own mortality instead of Hermione’s.

 

Ginny seemed unable to speak anymore, her own stuttered sobs taking over as she leaned back against Harry who gripped her shoulders for support.

 

Parker cleared his throat.  “Um…there’s more…”  He stepped swiveled in his chair a bit more, seemingly the only person capable of speech at the moment.  Every set of eyes flashed to him, watery, red, panic-filled and yet hopeful.  “Ms. Weasley took two vials of blood that day and she just asked me moments ago if I would agree to test the second sample as a possible donor for Ms. Granger.”

 

Parker didn’t need to even complete the rest of his sentence.  Ron knew without words and yet he knew he had to hear it for it to truly be real, even as he trembled with shock.  “A-And?”

 

“You’re a match, Mr. Weasley.”  Harry sucked in a quite audible breath while Ginny chocked out another sob.  “I’m just blown away by the fact that you were right here all along and we never tested you before.  We’ve never had a situation where a close friend or loved one was a match.  Even within families, every magical type is slightly different.”

 

The Healers words ran like ice water down Ron’s spine.  It was a good thing he was already seated or he would have collapsed.  His thoughts swirled in supplication, too much to consider and without warning he grabbed the nearby trash can, leaned over and vomited into it.  This must have snapped everyone out of their paralysis for Ginny and Parker both jumped up, Ginny rubbing his back while Parker transformed the two chairs into a sofa and they directed Ron to lie down.

 

The Healer ran his wand up and down Ron’s body and within a moments Ron’s stomach settled a bit.  Even though, the room still swam with melancholy – his own optimism for Hermione crushed as the suggestion of his own doomed life came into play.  No one spoke, only Ginny’s occasional sniffs filled the silence.  The grief that rang in the air was indescribable, every person fighting with mixed emotions for multiple parties and no one able to come to grips with the terrible conclusions.

 

“How long do I have before I get sick?” Ron asked, his face now deathly pale.

 

“A day or two.”  Ginny stammered.

 

Ron nodded his understanding, but his thoughts immediately shifted away from himself.  “Can I give this virus to Hermione?”  His eyes watered over and his lip began to tremble as he contemplated his suddenly shortened life.

 

“No.  It only affects pure-bloods, but doing this could seriously weaken you and…”

 

Ron stopped him with a halting gesture.  He sat up, raked a hand through his hair and finally wiped an eye, slapping his hand on his leg as he rose.  With a quick sniff, he started for the door.  “I have to think.”

 

Parker spoke up and Ron paused in the doorway, his back still turned toward them.  “Ron, before you decide on anything, we need to talk some more.  I’ll be here all night if you need me.”

 

Ron nodded his head once and left the room.

    


	17. Chapter 17 - A Dichotomy of Life and Love

  
Author's notes: Thank you SO much for all the incredible comments.  So many of you have been begging me for another chapter that I tried really hard to get this next one out quickly.  However, I have to warn you that you're going to have to suffer through one more chapter of the "angsty mess" as one reader put it.  I'd grab a tissue box.  


* * *

Chapter 17- A Dichotomy of Life and Love

  

Ron walked.  Blending through the glassy-looking barrier in the visitor’s entrance at St. Mungo’s, he stepped out onto the paved Muggle street.  It was barren, but Ron really could have cared less about being seen, despite the laws that governed discovery of the wizarding world.  His head swooned with decisions and all he wanted was some fresh air.  The early-evening began to cool and he drew in a deep, replenishing breath, relishing the fact that his lungs still worked.  What might happen in a few days time?  He felt strong.  No, he was strong.

 

*** 

 

Hermione pulled herself up in the bed.  For the first time in days, she wasn’t the focus of everyone’s angst.  The twist in her gut felt strangely liberating as she stood weakly and shuffled toward the small closet to find her clothing.  Losing her magic was no where as near as bad as losing one’s life.  Truth be told, she might lose her life, but that was still to be determined whereas Ron’s health seemed in far greater danger.  Something about concentrating on him and his welfare made her feel much stronger.  It was time to stop feeling needy and start being needed.  She dressed herself, trying to ignore the ache in her arms and called for the nurse, asking her to find Ginny so that she could go home.  

 

*** 

 

Ron walked.  His legs pumped and he felt the muscles contract and expand as his courage flowed through them.  The heart that fed his blood was young and vigorous; it wouldn’t give out on him.  His muscles were taught and lean.  In fact, he’d only been sick a handful of times in his entire life.  Maybe Ginny was wrong or the test was a false positive.  His arms began to pump in time with his steps, his strides elongating on the pavement as he felt the quickening of his heart beat and the flush of energy to his system.  It felt good to be this alive.  His throat thickened for a moment and he paused at a mailbox on the corner, his eyes watering as his jaw tensed.  Contemplating one’s own mortality was an emotional subject.  “I won’t get sick.  She’s wrong.”  

 

A breeze came along and Ron closed his eyes, tipped his head back and inhaled more than just air: hope, determination, fight.  They floated on the breeze – the exhaled dreams of a million courageous people before him:  Soldiers and Prize Fighters, Aurors and Healers, his parents and friends.  Ron stopped to consider others that epitomized the traits that he valued and suddenly the faces that appeared in his thoughts seemed far too close.  Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.  They _were_ hope, determination and fight.  How could he _not_ survive with them at his side?

 

*** 

 

Harry and Ginny both trudged down the hall as if they had been put through the ringer and Hermione wholly blamed herself for their dejected and haggard appearance.  Her health issues, and now Ron’s, were truly taking a toll on everyone involved and it pained her heart to see them this way.  For the first time in weeks, she flashed them a stoically brilliant smile, hoping to take just a bit of stress out of their lives.  Gathering all the strength she could muster, she bit her lip and convinced her legs to walk down the hall.

 

“Ready to go home?” she asked, as cheerfully as she could to the red-eyed Ginny.

 

Harry wrapped an arm around Ginny, pulling her against his side, but Hermione sensed he needed her love just as much as she did him.  “Are you?” he directed to Hermione, his face somewhat alight at her seemingly stronger stance.

 

“You bet.  Why don’t Ginny and I head back and you can go and check on that lab of hers.  It’s important you get it back up and running and soon so she can find a cure for Ron.”

 

“I’ll work out of the house for now, but I really could use the lab.  I’ll need to seal off that part of the house.  No one but me in or out.”  Ginny looked at Harry with a certain degree of hope.  Hermione did the same.  That was all Hermione could give of herself at the moment…hope.

 

“I’ll have it open soon.  My name still carries a bit of sway.”  Harry kissed Ginny on the cheek and walked over and wrapped his arms gently around Hermione’s waist, hugging her warmly.  Hermione couldn’t help but push back against the tears that threatened at his display of affection.

 

“Harry, you have to help Ron, now.  He needs you far more than I do.”

 

“Hermione…” he ducked down to get a look at her face, but she couldn’t bear to look in his eyes.  It would unravel them both and she knew it.

 

“I need you to help him now.  Don’t worry about me.  I’m just fine.”

 

One leg seemed to give way, as if her knee would no longer lock the joint in place, but Harry grabbed her swiftly. 

 

  _Damn!_ She didn’t want to appear weak right then _._  

 

“I’ll find a wheelchair,” Ginny replied.  “The hospital has one just for those odd cases where someone can’t be levitated.”  

 

 “You’re not fine, Hermione, and I’m going to help you both.  I’m not sure how, exactly, but…”  

 

Harry almost carried her to a nearby bench in the hallway, her strength waning despite her attempts at camouflage.  “That’s just it, Harry.  There isn’t anything you can do for me, but you can do something to help him.  Get the lab opened up.”

 

She slid from his arms onto the bench, berating her own weakness.  For the first time, Hermione saw Harry’s eyes burn with rage.  His words pressed through his teeth with determination.  “Oh, I will, if I have to cause hell for _everyone_ in my way, but that doesn’t mean that we’re doing anything less for you.”  Bobbing his head toward her on that last word, he made his point.

 

“Harry…” she tried to argue.

 

“No!  Now that’s the end of it,” he screamed and Hermione jerked back.  “If you think for one minute that I’m going to sit around and watch my friends die, then you’re insane!”  He paced a step, turned and his entire body lurched toward her with undisguised fury.  “I will not give UP, Hermione!”  Ginny rushed around the corner, pushing a wheelchair, but came to a halt as Harry continued his mid-corridor tirade.  

 

“I love _both_ of you!” his voice broke.  He seemed to swallow down a thick chunk of agony.  “I wouldn’t be _alive_ , if it weren’t for you and Ron!  Do you not see how all this is affecting me and Ginny and everyone else around you?”

 

“O-of course, I do,” she admitted with a guilty warble.

 

“If you love us as much as we love you, then you have to stop this!  You have to FIGHT!” He shook his fist in front of her face.  “Fight for your life, Hermione!  And fight for Ron!  And I can’t tell you what that means, but you do whatever you have to do to stay alive, because…I…I can’t…” he seemed to lose the ability to speak, the words stuck in his chest as he marched a few steps down the hall and back.  Hermione chanced a look at Ginny who seemed frozen with tears trailing down her cheeks as she watched Harry turn his back to both of them, his head tipped down.

 

Hermione sat shocked by his loud outburst.  Up until now Harry had been the cool and calm voice of reason, even when everyone else seemed to be falling apart.  However, for the first time, she could see the stress seeping out of him, his nerves as wired as the rest of them.  Maybe she hadn’t truly realized how this was affecting her friends and family.  They were suffering just like her and now twice as much with Ron’s unhappy news.

 

Ginny let go of the wheelchair and walked slowly to meet Harry in the middle of the hall.  At first she just stood by him, allowing him a moment.  But she seemed to sense the moment that he needed comfort the most and tenderly stroked the side of his head.  Just like that he tipped his forehead into her shoulder and sobbed.  Hermione’s chest hurt as she watched his shoulders heave up and down, his pain on display for the first time.  Ginny threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled him close as he wrapped his arms around her waist.  Two nurses walked around the corner, eyed the three of them and slowly walked away, pursed lips full of sympathy.  

 

Harry was right.  She didn’t know what she could do, but she prayed that her body would give her the strength to fight just a while longer.

 

*** 

 

Ron walked.  It seemed like only minutes, but soon half of London had become a blur.  He followed his feet as they guided him toward parts unknown and yet he trusted their steady footsteps.  Had Hermione trusted her own steps as she walked into Budapest that day, stepping up to take Harry’s place, her own courage at the forefront?  The corners of his mouth inched up as he pictured her, eloquating a grand speech for the thankful masses that stood poised to unveil their newest treasure and pay homage to the famous trio member standing before them.  Even though Ron detested all the fame, he could picture Hermione at her resolute best, her eyes blazing, her keen mind scanning the crowd.  Perhaps she even caught sight of a young child, a girl like her who gaped at her with admiration.  She felt strong and determined that day as well.  Whoever had taken this from her deserved to have his life ruined, just as he had ruined hers.

 

Then again, maybe he was looking at this all wrong.  Could this actually be a good thing?  The thought struck him with such a forceful blow that he halted his movement, finding himself standing on a bridge, overlooking the Thames and not entirely sure how he got there.  Not that this unprovoked attack was in any way good, but if anyone were to lose their magic and go back to a Muggle life, Hermione Granger would be the one to make it a resounding success.  If they could just stabilize her, she could be brilliant as a Muggle.  Ron smiled to himself, picturing all those things he had studied the night before, all the technology of modern Muggle life – Hermione mastering them with ease and teaching him just like back at Hogwarts.  It would be exciting to learn all about these things and to learn them from her would make it even more worthwhile.  They were like two halves of the same whole, Hermione sharing her intellect with kindness, Ron bringing laughter and loyalty to the table.  Doing anything with Hermione made him happy and he hoped that he could do the same for her…make her happy.  Images of them together took over his senses.  He’d never talk down to her, never negate her brilliance, value the simpler things in life, her smile, her voice, holding her hand, taking walks, picnics, cooking together.  Ron smiled, suddenly flushed with a warmth that emerged like the dawning sun they had shared that morning.  There were hundreds of things, maybe thousands that didn’t require any magic at all and he would most willingly do them all if he could just keep her on this earth.

 

And then another idea struck him.  What if he were to discover the source of this spell that had taken her magic and performed it on himself?  He’d certainly miss some of the wizarding conveniences, but his parents and siblings would understand.  He’d be with her.  That was it.  Not once in his entire thought process did he even consider the possibility that losing his magic might take his life as well.  Even worse, his recent diagnosis seemed an inconsequential blur for the brief moments he focused on Hermione’s plight.  He was wholly absorbed with her.  

 

Not paying attention to his path, Ron walked directly into a low hanging branch, the dangling summer leaves catching him on the face.  As Ron reached up to brush his cheek, a lone leaf floated softly in front of his eyes and landed on his palm as if belonging there.

 

Pausing under the tree, his opposite knuckle brushed absently over the scratched skin on his face as he studied the perfectly formed bright green leaf resting on his hand.  The tiny veins broke off in different branches from the main stem, each one pointed to an entirely new direction and yet together, each formed a beautiful, symmetrical whole.  Nature’s creation held so many different paths and Ron could see himself walking along one of those branches with Hermione on the opposite side, walking away from him.  And yet, at some point, they would both reach the edge and have no choice but to either turn and go back or skirt the ridge, tracing the scalloped edge around until they met once again.  

 

He’d been concentrating on only one path and ignoring the other.  His fingers stroked the smooth waxy leaf until he caught the stem between his fingertips and rolled it.  The leaf spun delicately and Ron began to walk again.  He had another option.  He could heal her, or at least attempt it.  The Healer said something about side effects, but if he was going to be sick anyway, who really cared about side-effects.  Perhaps she was meant to be healed all along and it was providence that of all pure-blood wizards in the world, he was destined to save her.  Could it be that this was why he was put here in the first place?  All this time, his knowing her, his love for her were all part of some master plan put in place so that at the appropriate time, a champion would come forth, ready and willing to offer his own life in exchange for hers.  Somehow, oddly, he felt comforted by that thought.  Then the true mechanics of the cure came to mind and he frowned.  _This is so perverted!_

 

Here he was dreaming up some fantastical justification for getting in Hermione’s knickers!  How sick and twisted was that?  Before knowing this, his desires for her were stronger than anything he’d ever felt, but how could he do this with a clear conscience?  Loving Hermione was more important than sex.  She had to want to be with him – he wouldn’t just jump her or coax her into it with sweet and empty words.  

 

Shifting his jaw, Ron’s vision of the leaf blurred, his eyelashes dripping with grief.

  

  _I don’t want to die.  But I can’t live without her._   

He needed her to know that this meant something, their union represented devotion in its rawest form.  Devotion that eclipsed the bounds of mortality.  Blinking, another round of tears slid down his cheeks and he sniffed.

  _If I die before doing this, she dies, too.  If I do this first, then she lives and I die._  

The breeze blew over his face, the tears cool on his streaked face.  Visions began to fill his head – visions of his mother sobbing, his brothers and father hunched over in pain, even Harry with tears in his eyes, holding Ginny who wailed at the body lying in the coffin.  Ron sucked in a painful breath, more heartbroken tears trickling into the corners of his mouth.  It hurt.  It hurt so bad he wasn’t sure he could stand it and wiped his sleeve over his face.  Then that same vision, but a completely healthy Hermione bent over his coffin, her beautiful brown curls draped over his chest as she shook with grief.  Then the same vision with two coffins and Ron had to grip the railing to keep his knees from dropping him to the pavement.  Harry wailed uncontrollably, pulling at his hair, his mum collapsed, Ginny sitting numb on the floor, all life drained from her.   His family couldn’t deal with two deaths.  His thumb and forefinger spun the leaf and Ron’s decision was made.

 

He would try to heal her first, try to convince her to accept his help and then use all his willpower to fight this illness.  If he lived – if she was not cured – he’d track down this stripping spell and use it on himself.  That would certainly prove to her his sincerest desires, his absolute resolution to stay at her side.  The plan was limited, but it was all he could control and it would have to do.

 

*** 

 

Ginny strolled weakly through the door first and turned to offer a hand toward Hermione who followed behind her.  Her friend often felt weakened by the trip and she always stood ready to offer an arm.  Hermione struggled up the last step and Ginny reached for her as she clutched the door frame, her face almost as white as the porch from which she had stepped.

 

Hermione forced out another smile, but Ginny knew it was taxing her.  She needed some mothering and Ginny needed to feel useful. It took them several minutes to navigate the stairs, neither one of them speaking.  Ginny couldn’t keep her thoughts away from the nightmare of Harry’s pain.  Something about witnessing such pain from her strong, courageous man brought new meaning to the word heartache.

 

After having to rest several times on the steps, Hermione made it to the top.  Ushering her in to the guest bedroom, Ginny put on her cheeriest face possible and turned down the bed covers, prepared to do her best with her new house guest.  Luckily, it was the weekend.  Still, she would have to work something out in order to be home to help her friend in the days to come.  Without any encouragement, Hermione slumped onto the bed like a cup full of previously-chilled gelatin that sat out in the warmth too long.  She didn’t appear tired in the typical fashion, no yawns, no stretching or sleepy eyes, just a limp, boneless mass melding into the mattress.

 

“Well, I finally got you to come and stay with us, huh?” she smiled brightly slipping off her friend’s shoes and covering her up.  It was the first real sentence either one of them had spoken since the hospital.

 

Hermione, who lie perfectly still, glanced up, her eyes dull and weary from the fight.  “I guess you did.”  Again, she tried to force what was left of a smile, but her cheeks seemed to be unwilling to cooperate and it looked more like a snarl.

 

“I have to brew that potion Healer Parker gave me.” She pointed over her shoulder.  “Um…are you hungry?  While I’m in the kitchen, I can make us some sandwiches and I have a fresh ice-cold pitcher of pumpkin juice.”

 

“I’m not really that hungry, but thank you.  You should go work on that cure.  I don’t need anything.”

 

Ginny dropped the happy facade and eased onto the edge of the bed.  “Sweetie, you have to eat.  Potions won’t do it by themselves.  You heard Harry.”  She rested a hand on Hermione’s bony wrist.  “You have to keep up your strength.  You’re too thin.”

 

Despite the recent scolding from Harry, Ginny noticed Hermione’s attempt to redirect Ginny’s focus toward her brother.  “How can you sit here and worry about me when Ron…” the words seemed to lodge in her throat.

 

Ginny’s chest tightened in response.  She had been trying desperately to put that one concern aside, to bury it while she dealt with the other.  Having both of them at the center of her thoughts overwhelmed her with grief and she couldn’t function.  One had to go to the back and the fact that Ron still appeared healthy was enough to make him take the back seat for the time being.

 

“I don’t know if I’m smart and strong enough to do this.”

 

“Ginny Weasley, you are the strongest person I know.  And brilliant at what you do!  You will find a cure for this.  I’m positive of it.”  She tried to lift herself up on the pillow, but her feeble frame only moved an inch or two.  “How about if I try to help you?”

 

“With what?  Worrying?  I’m sure I’m doing enough of that for both of us.”  Her arms wrapped over her chest, trying to understand what Hermione was up to.  

 

“I can try to read up on this virus or something.  Isn’t there some research I can do while I’m lying here?”

 

“I wish there was, but it’s really all laboratory testing now and besides you said yourself that your eyes were getting worse.”

 

“I’m fine, Ginny.  We need to help Ron.  You should stop fussing over me and concentrate on him.  I could go back to my flat and get some books I have on magical biology.”

 

“You will do no such thing!  John’s back there.  Are you insane?”

 

“You don’t know that.  Ron and Harry ran them off.  Besides, it’s my flat.  I could get the locks changed and have someone put his stuff out in the hall.”

 

“Hermione, he has a dark wizard cousin lurking about.  Besides, you can barely walk.  How do you expect to make a trip to your flat and back.  You need to be here.  With us -  where we can keep an eye on you.”

 

Hermione huffed out a sigh.  “You make it sound like I’m a child.”

 

“Well, honestly, you’re acting like one at the moment.  You are really sick and you need to be in bed.”

 

“I’m sick of being in bed!  Really, I’m fine.  I just want to be useful for a change.  Isn’t there something I can do?”  She stressed her words, but Ginny recognized the wasted attempt at reassurance.

 

Instead, Ginny saw this as an opportunity.  “If you’ll eat something, then I’ll consider it.”  Her eyebrow arched up questioningly.

 

Hermione’s fingers inched over Ginny’s hand, cold and skeletal, but still full of love and support.

 

“You sound like your mother.” Hermione countered, a slight grin on her face.

 

“Well, I’m sure there’s some Prewett in me somewhere.”  Pausing, she watched Hermione look away, her eyes turned down to the quilt, contemplative.  “How about a bath?”

 

“No.”  The fake smile had completely slipped off her cheeks, the sluggish uncertainty of her life weighing down on her again.  “But you could do something for me.”

 

“Anything.”  Ginny brightened, relieved to find some way to be useful.

 

“Could you get some parchment and a quill?”

 

“Sure!  You want me to write a letter or something?”  Ginny dashed off.  “Be right back.”  She ran down the steps to the desk in the parlor, grabbed several sheets of parchment, quill and ink and headed back up.  Returning to the bedroom, Hermione reached for the items and Ginny handed them over, stepping back and frowning as she watched her anemic-looking friend try to grip the quill.

 

“Do you want some help?” Ginny asked, moving forward.

 

“No.”  Hermione flashed her eyes at her in such a way that Ginny felt compelled to remain where she was.  “Why don’t you make that sandwich and check on Ron.”

 

“Alright…and start the potion.” she murmured, retreating a few paces before exiting the bedroom.

 

*** 

 

John trudged back into the flat, not bothering to flip on the lights, his face purple and swollen, wires holding his jaw together.  His hand withdrew the bottle of pain pills from his pocket.  Getting them in his mouth would be an issue, but he’d do it.  Closing the door, he filled a bag with ice and slumped over onto the sofa cushions.

 

“You should have let me heal that for you.”  A voice cut through the darkness, a voice that only he would know.  “Fucking Muggle medicine.  It’s ridiculous.”

 

He tried to speak, but his words were limited and muddled.  “U cae ack.”

 

“Well, of course, cuz.  You think I’d leave you like this?”  The tip of Arty’s wand lit up as he moved across the room, sitting beside John.  “The bitch deserves to die for this.”

 

“It asn’t er.  Weasley id it.”

 

“They all deserve to die.”  Arty waved his wand over John’s jaw.  A siphoning sound followed a subtle cracking noise and John’s eyes perked up.

 

“Wow.  That’s much better, even though it’s ill wired shut.”  His words became much clearer.

 

“Well, for appearance sake, I guess you should leave the wires for a little bit, just so the Muggle authorities don’t get suspicious.”

 

“Thanks, Arty.”

 

“So, what’s next?” Arty asked in the darkness, his wand no longer glowing.

 

“I don’t know, I guess I’ll ack up and oove back to the university.  I think it would be smart for me to leave town relatively soon.  The authorities…”

 

“Fuck the Muggle authorities.  They can’t do anything to you, not when you’re under my protection.”

 

John tossed him a leery glance.

 

“I just think it’s best if I leave,” self-preservation urging him to action.

 

“You’re giving up?  I thought you said you almost had it figured out?”

 

“I do, but I can’t finish without one ore sample from her.”

 

“So, we take her back again.”

 

Even in the black of the apartment, John could hear the determination in Arty’s voice.  “I don’t even know where she is.”

 

“We didn’t know when she was at her parents either, but found that out easy enough.  You keep forgetting that I have powerful friends.  They’ll help.  They’ll be glad to help when I tell them who’s involved.”

 

He hesitated for a second, his ultimate desire so close.  “Um…alright, I guess.”

 

“You just leave it up to me, Jackie boy.”

  

***

 

Feeling energized by his revelation and yet still undecided, Ron found a hidden corner in a park and quickly Apparated to the village of Ottery St. Catchpole.  He needed to be home, to move in familiar surroundings and to possibly talk to his family.  The lantern posts glowed in the evening sky, illuminating the store fronts and neatly trimmed hedges that lined the main road.  Ron always felt happy here.  In spring, the little village wreaked of green with tiny buds in pink and white on all the trees.  At Christmas time it was so beautiful, decorated for the holidays and they would go and listen to the carolers or walk past the church and hear the choir.  A man in a long robe nodded to him as he passed.  Ron knew it to be a wizard in the village, again, that feeling of belonging washing over him.  

 

The moon was on the rise, half of it still yellow-orange as it rested low on the horizon.  The church steeple split the orb down the center, the cross dark against the moon’s glow.  Ron wasn’t sure why, but something called him in.  The village church was centuries old, heavy stones stacked with precision that baffled modern-day architecture.  Beautiful stained-glass windows sparkled from the lamp light inside and Ron found himself walking up the gray stone steps.  The large double doors swung open without a creak and Ron stepped in to the old-smelling sanctuary.  A few scattered backs hunched over the pews, heads bowed in prayer and Ron didn’t wish to disturb, but carefully walked down the main aisle.

 

  _I wonder if Hermione has ever gone to a church.  She never mentioned it.  Did she pray?_  

Ron looked around, wondering what the others could be praying for.  Each brought their own worries and cares to the chapel, each seeking help or resolution or forgiveness for their life’s issues.  Quietly, he slipped into a pew and sat down on the smooth wooden seat, still looking around, not entirely sure why he was here and yet feeling a need to stay.

  _It couldn’t hurt, could it?_

Ron closed his eyes, the green leaf still pinched between his fingers.

  _What should I do?  I’d pray for myself, but all I can think about is her.  I need her to live, but how?  Will she die if I don’t do this?  Then again, maybe she’ll live without magic.  Is it better to give her back to the Muggle life she knew?  Would she want me in that life?  Could I live it?  Will I live at all?  Or maybe I was meant to restore her magic.  What if she doesn’t want me like that?  What if I hurt her?  Oh, God…could she still be a virgin? Can I do this to her? I don’t want to be some monster in her eyes, someone who stole something important from her._

He opened his eyes, the candles blurry in his watery vision.  “Oh, help.”

 

“Ronald?”  His mother’s voice whispered from the left.

 

 ***

The tip of this particular quill, once sleek and stylish, now suffered its owner’s Pirana-like confusion.  It sacrificed itself as an outlet for concern and disparity.  Hermione’s hand trembled as she finished and frowned at the reflection of her own tortured thoughts, the quill vibrating in her grip.

She wanted desperately to do this alone, unwilling to tax Ginny or Harry or anyone else with such grief-filled thoughts.  People weren’t meant to hear such things until after you were gone.  It was a sort of cathartic process, airing ones dirty laundry for those left behind and yet, Hermione had only happy and kind things to say to those she would be leaving.

The half-empty moon shown through the sheer curtains on her window.  She had watched it progress everyday since it was full and counted the ever-darkening crescents as they approached a new moon, something she would never see again.  Her days were nearly up, despite Ron’s pleas for her to watch the sunrise with him, but at night she could at least stare at the moon on her own.  It phased with the calendar, the sky growing darker toward the end, and when the sky became pitch black, so would her days.

 

Struggling to sign her name, she jumped as Ginny walked in carrying a food try.  Hermione knew that she looked a mess, crying openly, the ink bottle about to spill on her lap with the tremors underneath it, but she tried to put on a happier face, failing miserably in the process.

 

“What are you doing?” Ginny asked, rushing over to help her.  Placing the tray on the dresser, she gripped Hermione’s hand and gently pulled the quill lose, taking the lap desk from Hermione’s legs and moving it to the side table.  She couldn’t help but see the words scrawled across the top of the parchment, mumbling them to herself as she read.  “This is the last will and testament of Hermione Jean Granger…what are you doing?”  Ginny lifted up the document, shaking it in front of Hermione’s face.  “A will?  Are you giving up?  Just like that?”

 

“Ginny, it’s inevitable.  I need to be prepared.”

 

“No!  You need to concentrate on getting better.  This is not a time to call your hand, this is when the betting gets good.”

 

Hermione smiled weakly.  “Only you would come up with a poker analogy at a time like this.”

 

“Hermione, please.  What has happened to you?  Where’s the brilliant, determined, full of energy girl that would never give up?  The one that fought for years, supported Harry, loved her boys and would never stop trying to the bitter end!  That’s the girl we need right now!”  Ginny’s fist crunched down on the parchment, finally pulling it up to read as she paced around the room.

 

“No, Ginny.  Don’t read that now.”

 

But Ginny read aloud.  “To my dearest friend and brother, Harry James Potter.  I leave you my collection of books and hope that they, with all my notes, will be useful to you in documenting and creating new spells that will help wizard kind in the future.  I trust you to care for them as I always have.  Any money that is left in my Gringott’s account, I ask that you put it to use in improving the rights of magical creatures.  Your name carries a lot of weight and I’m sure you can do so much good with it.  Beyond that I don’t have anything of value to leave except my love and most sincere wishes that you live a long and happy life.  Marry Ginny and have tons of beautiful children and tell them all about your adventures with Aunt Hermione.  You will always remain in my heart.  My truest friend.”  

 

Ginny’s face lie streaked in tears as she looked back at her friend who tried again to stop her.  “Ginny, please.”  Ginny raised a single finger, sniffed and looked back down, continuing to walk the room and read.

 

“To Ronald Bilius Weasley.  I would give you all my possessions if they meant anything to you, but I am sure they do not.  One thing about you that I always admired was the way you cherished the truly valuable things in life.  Laughter, family, friends, flying on your broom or taking a swim in the pond.  I feel so touched that I was able to be a part of your life for this long.  Your family will always support you and love you and that fact alone is the one thing that has allowed me to go in peace.”  Ginny paused, wiping her eyes.  “I am convinced now at this late hour, that all you ever wanted from me was my love.  I am so sorry that I never realized it in time to show you that you’ve always had it.  It was my own pride that kept us apart.  I only ever wanted you, and I should have made that known years ago.  You’ve been at the very center of my being for so many years, it’s impossible for me to die without you taking up my very last thought and so it shall be when the moment arrives.  I love you and always will, but I also know that your heart is so big that you’ll find room to love another and to make them as happy as you have me.  You have to promise me that you will fight off this virus and live a long time so you can stop and put some daffodils on my grave every April.  I’m counting on you, so don’t fail me.”

 

Ginny couldn’t go on…her voice had given out.  She crumpled onto the side of the bed and fell over, her head resting in her dying friend’s lap.  Hermione reached out a hand, feeling in the air for Ginny’s form and stroking her back with gentle shushing noises.

 

“Please, Ginny don’t cry.  It’s just my time.  Everyone has a certain number of years that they’re given and hopefully you do something valuable with them.”

 

Ginny pushed up, her voice sobbing.  “Oh, but Hermione you have!  You’ve done so much, but you don’t have to go now.  There’s still hope.  What if I told you that we found a match?  Huh?  What would you say to that?  You’re going to live Hermione!”

 

“There’s always hope, but we’ve already seen how a match doesn’t necessarily mean a cure.  I want to be ready.  Just in case.  Besides, you’re spending way too much time on me when you should be concentrating on finding a cure for that virus.  Think of all the people that will affect.”  

 

“You’re not thinking of all the people.  You’re thinking of Ron.”

 

“Well, of course.  The point is, you have to stop focusing on what’s lost and take care of your family.”  She reached over to the side table, again touching blindly for an envelope that lie there, finally handing it to Ginny.  “There’s some instructions in here for the funeral.  Just keep this someplace safe and give it to my parents.”

 

“Dammit, Hermione.  You can’t do this!  You can’t give up on us like this!  Didn’t you hear a single thing that Harry said?”

 

“I love you, Ginny.”

 

“No!  Don’t you dare say goodbye to me.  I won’t listen to it!”  Ginny bounded off the bed, her stance now hard and sure.

 

“But I want you to know that you’ve meant the world to me.”

 

Ginny stammered, her face latticed with trails of tears.  “W-well, good, then I’ll continue to…to do so in the future, but I have a feeling you’re going to hate me, because I’m going to gripe at you and pour potions down your throat and force-feed you if I have to until you’re well!  Do you understand me young lady?”  Ginny’s tear-filled eyes flared violently with the Prewett family intensity, but Hermione only grinned and seemed to look blankly around the room, squinting with a puzzled expression.  Ginny must have noticed and she blinked rapidly and sniffed.  “Is something wrong with your eyes?”

 

“Oh, just another symptom, I guess.”

 

“What do you mean?”  Ginny approached the bed, her anger turning back to concern.

 

“I can’t really see all of a sudden.”  The panic that might have accompanied such news seemed to be missing, a calm acceptance replacing it.  Hermione had finally said what she needed to and was at peace.

 

“I’ll tell Parker.  The potion will help.  It’s got another eight hours to brew, but it’ll be ready in the morning and you’ll feel much better.”  Ginny strode purposefully to the dresser and returned with the food tray.  “Now, you are going to eat if I have to shove this down your throat.”

 

The corners of Hermione’s mouth inched up.  “It smells lovely.  Thank you.”  She felt around for the sandwich, picked it up and took a small bite, her appetite truly gone, but wishing to appease her tortured friend.  Ginny pulled up a chair, grabbed a book from the stack beside the bed and began to read, occasional hiccups and sniffs interjected in the prose.  Soon Hermione would lull off to sleep.

 

*** 

 

“Mum?” Ron was shocked beyond words to find her here in this quaint little church.  “What are you doing here?”

 

“I could ask the same thing.  Have you ever even been in this church before?”  Molly tossed a glance toward the center of the pew. 

 

“No.  Have you?”  Ron scooted over and Molly slid in beside him.

 

“Occasionally.  I heard about Hermione and stopped down to say a prayer.  Her mother wrote me and told me what was happening and asked if I would pray for her.  So, I thought it was the least I could do.”

 

Ron nodded, realizing the similar thought pattern in his own meanderings.  “Yeah, I-I know what you mean.”

 

“Is that why you’re here, darling?”

 

“Yeah.  I had a lot on my mind and somehow I just steered myself in here.  Looked like a nice quiet place to think.”

 

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Molly whispered, leaning into his shoulder.

 

“It’s kind of private, Mum.”

 

“But about Hermione.”  She phrased that less as a question and more a statement of fact that didn’t require Ron’s answer.  He only glanced at her lap, but it seemed enough of a confirmation.

 

She nodded and turned back toward the front, her hands folded in her lap as she released a deep breath.  Ron wanted to talk to someone, but telling his mother such intense news would only make things worse.  She had a tendency to over react in situations where her children were in danger.  It was probably best to keep it to himself.

 

“You know…” she turned back toward him “…I love Hermione like a daughter.”

 

“I know.”  Ron wasn’t sure if his mum was just being sentimental or perhaps trying to cheer him up.

 

“In fact…” she stopped to nod at the man who shuffled down the aisle past them “…sometimes I forget that I’m not her mother and I tend to include her as a member of my family when talking to people.”

 

Ron turned and fully looked at her for the first time.  It sounded like she was making some kind of unpronounced confession.  Her eyes grew wide with a flash of innocence that spelled out a secret she wished to share.  Ron tried to put together all the hints she had just dropped.  “And?”

 

“And, well…I think I might have told Healer Parker that we were related.”

 

“Mother?” Ron reprimanded.

 

“It was an innocent mistake.  The point is…I know about the treatment for her, about her needing a donor and what that entails.  Poor thing.  She has such a horrible decision to make and to have to live through such an invasion of her privacy like that and with some stranger no doubt.  I feel just awful for her.”

 

“Me, too.”

 

“So you do know.”

 

“Unfortunately.”

 

“She’s going to need our help afterwards, maybe even a Mind Healer to get over this.  I wish there could be another way, but I know she’ll go through with it if it means her life.”  She rubbed the back of her neck absently.  “I just wish it could be someone she knows and loves.  It’s too bad she has to give something so precious to a stranger.  Poor thing.”

 

This conversation went way past the bounds of Ron’s comfort level when it came to discussions with your mother, but she seemed to speak with the wisdom and tenor of a long-known friend.  He’d had ‘the talk’ with his dad years back and only once had his mum even brought up the suggestion of his sexuality.  Coincidentally, that discussion revolved around the same girl and with a flush of embarrassment tingeing the tops of his ears, Ron’s stomach flipped wondering if his mum knew of his secret.

 

He couldn’t even nod.  First, the danger that this might turn into something inappropriate for the current location jabbed him in the gut, but second, there really was no answer, for there really was no question.  His mum had just boxed up all of Ron’s distress and tied it neatly with a bow.  How could he let someone else do this for her, even if they found someone else?  Sometimes his mum had the subtlety of a prison guard and often with the same temperament.

 

“Do you want to pray with me, Ronald?” Molly asked, closing her eyes and tipping forward on the edge of the pew.

 

“Actually, I’ve said my prayer mum.  I’ll wait for you outside and walk you home.”  He slid to the far end of the pew and got out, needing to get back to the clear, cool air.  A headache seemed to be forming in his temples and he rubbed at it slightly as he stepped out the door.  

 

Like a slap in the face, his own recklessness sliced at him with razor sharpness.

 

  _Ron_ _, you idiot!  Why are you going home?  You could give this virus to the whole family!  You may have just exposed your mother!_   

Holding back the nausea that terrorized his stomach, he shuffled quickly to the opposite side of the town square, still able to see the church entrance, but far enough away to protect his mother.  Minutes later, she stepped out of the doors, searching for him.  Noting no one in the area, he sent his Patronus with a message that something had come up and he had to go, but he loved her and would see her soon.  He watched as the ghostly image of the Jack Russell terrier scampered to her side and then dissolved a few seconds later, just as an elderly man walked out of the church and tipped his hat to Molly.

 

Running through the small park, Ron slipped behind the red-brick pub that stood on the corner and Disapparated, appearing at St. Mungo’s a moment later.  He had lots of questions and only one person who could answer them.  Trusting the man’s word from earlier, Ron found his way back to Healer Parker’s office and gently tapped, his heart heavy, the headache still pounding in his temple.

 

“Come in.”

 

Pushing the door open, Ron stepped in hesitantly, knowing that Parker would understand why he had returned.

 

“So, I imagine you have some questions.” Parker asked, his face blank but professional.  Ron licked his lips, trying to put a bit of moisture back after all the frantic breathing had dried him out.  “Please, sit.”

 

He sunk into the chair, his hand wrapping over his mouth as an elbow landed on the desk in front of him.  His stomach still churned and he did indeed have questions, but voicing them was a whole other thing and he belatedly wished that he had offered one more prayer before leaving that church.

 

“So, let me see if I can get a few of the main questions out of the way.”  Parker sat forward and folded his hands on the desk.  “No, this virus you have cannot be transmitted to Hermione as far as we know.  Even kissing her or intimate contact won’t hurt.  Second, you’re wondering if you should wait.  Yes, she might still stabilize, but her numbers are so low now that her quality of life would not be good and the implications of waiting could certainly impact not only her health, but your own ability to…well, to perform.  You may not have the strength in another day or two.  Third…well…” he paused, staring at Ron who now met his eyes in unspoken trust.

 

“You’re in love with her aren’t you?”  Parker’s question was point blank.  It took Ron back for a second, but he managed to keep as blank of an expression as possible.

 

“What does that have to do with it?” Ron finally spoke, his hand slipping to his chin.

 

“The bonding of magic has always been more of an emotional connection than a physical one.  Couples are bonded in marriage, their magic joined until death and so in life and love, they share everything.  One always acting as the necessary half of the other.”

 

Understanding washed over Ron’s face.  “Which is why the…um…transfer might not work for an unmarried couple.”

 

“Normally, yes, and why the man can’t just donate a sample.  There has to be a connection.”

 

“So, what do you do with these anonymous donors, then?”

 

“It’s tricky.  Love potions, charms.  If time permits, we urge the couple to talk and get to know one another, but sometimes it’s just a matter of repeating the process until enough magic is transferred.”

 

Ron grimaced at the visual.  “What do I have to do?” Ron asked, wanting to know all the details.

 

“The fact that you’re not married to Hermione…you have to drink a potion that will promote the bonding of your magic to her.  The potion feeds off of the emotions, the hormones in your system.  It’s a magical and chemical reaction.  But, if you love her like I suspect you do, I think the transfer will work fine.  We’ve never had a situation with two people who actually felt affection for one another, as I suspect both of you do.  She, especially, needs to feel the connection between you.  I’m not saying that you should act falsely or pretend to feel something you don’t, but if you really love her, just make sure she feels that.  Do you understand?”

 

Ron hated to even voice his concern, but he had to bring it up.  “And what happens if she resists?” His biggest fear was now out on the table.

 

“Yes…well, that is a possibility, but I don’t think Hermione will…”

 

“But what if she does?”  Ron pressed, hoping that this doctor would have some logical way around what he might be forced to do.

 

“She won’t…but if she does, you need to explain that we are out of options and this will save her life.”

 

“But you just said it’s possible this could fail.  Then what?”

 

“Then you try again and again, if necessary.”  Parker pushed back from the desk, his face defiant.

 

“You’re asking me to go in and basically rape a weak, defenseless woman, repeatedly.”

 

“That’s a bit harsh wouldn’t you say?”

 

“Well, what would you call it?”

 

“Not that.”

 

“What…you don’t like that word?”  Ron waited and got no reply.  “I hate to tell you this, but what do you think you’re condoning?”

 

“I’m not condoning anything, I’m trying to save her life!”

 

“And at what cost?”  Ron stood up, the chair nearly tipping over as he circled the edge of the room.  “I’m prepared to go to her and try this…no, I’m desperate to try this, but not because I’m such a twisted pervert who wants to take…”

 

“You aren’t taking anything,” he cut him off.  “You’re giving her life.  You’re giving her love.  Don’t you understand?”

 

Ron clutched the back of his head with both arms, trying to escape his dilemma.  He sucked in a deep breath and blew it out slowly.  He must have appeared resolved to go ahead, because Parker moved on to the next step.

 

“Fourth, there could be side-effects.”

 

“Side-effects?  She’s already so sick…”  Ron spun back on him.

 

“For you.”

 

“Me?”  His eyes arched up in surprise.

 

“Her nuclidites are so low that her body is literally starving and you’re a pure-blood wizard, brimming full with magic.  Her body will pull all the magic from you that it can in an effort to replenish itself.  That’s why we can’t use anyone less than pure-blood.  The sudden drop in your own count can trigger side-effects and you need to be prepared.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“One man vomited for days and ended up in the hospital dehydrated, another ran a high fever.  I only have a couple of cases to use as examples so there’s no true indicator of what could happen, but the fact that you’ve contracted this virus means that your body’s immune system is about to be taxed severely and so any loss in nuclidites or other physical impairment could be very serious for you, perhaps fatal.”

 

Ron didn’t bother to get to the chair, he simply sunk to the floor, sitting on the carpet, his eyes closed.  “So, wait…you’re telling me that this could _kill_ me as well?”

 

“Technically, the virus could kill you, Ron…it’s doubtful…but…it’s still a possibility that doing this could contribute to your inability to fight off the virus.  Assuming you do live, your cells should replenish themselves eventually, and you won’t drop to a point as low as her, but I don’t want you going into this with any false expectations, not when two lives are on the line.  If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to.  I’ll keep looking for a donor.  You have your own life to consider as well.”

 

Ron nodded, biting his lip and fighting back a wave of emotions that threatened to overtake him completely.  It was almost as if he had forced himself to forget his own plight, choosing to deal with hers first.

 

“But, if you do decide to do this, I’ll need to know far enough in advance to prepare the potion, twelve hours at least.”

 

“So, we have to come here to the hospital or what?” he looked up, his eyes fearful and strained.

 

“No, I can arrange to have Miss Weasley administer it in your own home.  The more relaxed the setting, the better.”

 

A long paused ensued, Ron battling with his conscience probably the cause of the horrible headache slamming in his temple.

“Make the potion.”

 

 


	18. Chapter 18 - And So It Goes

  
Author's notes: Thanks to Indie and all my readers.  I'm almost terrified to put this out and see if you all like it, but I think it's suffered in my brain long enough.  So, here goes!  


* * *

Chapter 18 – And So It Goes

 

 Never was a night less peaceful.  Ginny decided to forgo sleep, instead making constant trips between four on-going experiments in her make-shift bedroom lab, the strengthening potion that needed stirring in the kitchen and Hermione’s sick room.  Healer Parker yawned through several cups of tea at St. Mungo’s, adding his own ingredients to the bonding potion that he hoped would make the difference for his patient come morning.  Hermione slept restlessly, her breathing shallow and quick, pulse rapid, temperature wavering between borderline arctic and jungle fever.   

Harry won the prize for the most annoying and persistent hero in wizarding history by waking up officials, secretaries, ministers and calling in every favor in an effort to open the lab and get the restraining order dropped.  Ron left Parker’s office, stumbled home in a blur, drank half a bottle of Ogden’s, vomited twice and finally curled up in a ball on the living room rug and cried himself to sleep around two in the morning. 

It wasn’t anywhere near restful and by eight o’clock in the morning, everyone felt exhausted.  Ginny’s face rested scrunched up on the heel of her hand as it held her up on the kitchen table, occasional snores waking her to stir the potion again.  Harry, not wanting to be far from Ginny, crashed on the sofa around six and was snoozing quietly. 

A flutter of flapping wings alerted Ginny to the large brown owl on the window sill and she tripped over the kitchen chair, hopping on one foot toward the creature, message still in his beak.  A loud thump echoed from the parlor, followed by Harry stumbling bleary-eyed into the doorway, rubbing his forehead with one hand, wand in the other, one shoe missing. 

“What was that?” he asked, scanning the room for the telltale signs of trouble. 

His eyes followed the flipped over chair to the head of red flowing hair.  Ginny was feeding a piece of biscuit to a large owl that hooted with a clear tone of annoyance.  She yawned and walked back, thumbing open the envelope. 

“Well?” he asked as she read the letter, casually putting the chair back in place. 

Then a pause as she absorbed what she had just read.  “Healer Parker says that Ron has agreed to be the donor.” 

“Blimey, he’s gonna do it.” 

Ginny cocked her head at Harry’s double entendre, her tired eyes lifting slightly and he clearly caught the gist of her gesture. 

“I mean, not do it, but do it.  You know.  He’s going through with it.” 

“And he’s going to ‘do it’ as well and today.” 

Harry’s mouth hung open, only air moving back and forth, but no words.  It was truly a weird concept to consider, not that it didn’t, in some way, make sense.  His two best friends had loved each other for as long as he could remember, even if they didn’t realize it.  It was as if this joining was a natural progression in their lives, but just not under such dire circumstances.   

Ginny glanced back at the letter and continued to transpose.  “Healer Parker says that he’s brewed the bonding potion and will be here shortly.  He’ll arrive by Floo and we need to use it within two hours or it loses its effectiveness.”  She refolded the letter and added, “oh, and Hermione’s mum sent a message last night that she was coming to see her today.” 

“I hope they don’t show up at the same time.  Did you tell Hermione?”  Harry slipped his wand back in his pocket, stepping fully into the room. 

“About her mum or about…you know.” 

“Both, I guess.”  He rubbed his head again, a large welt now erupting on his temple. 

“No, did you?” she asked, the letter dropping by her side.  Closing the gap quickly, she waved her wand over the knot and Harry blinked rapidly as the pain lifted. 

“Thanks.”  Stroking his hands down her arms, he gazed at her sleepy brown eyes.  “You know, I don’t tell you this enough, but…I’m so thankful for having you.”  Ginny smiled softly as he slipped his hand through her hair and gently held the side of her head.  “You’ve been amazing, taking care of Hermione and working on this cure.  I don’t know what any of us would do without you.”  He kissed her softly, several times until a loud crack broke them from the embrace. 

Ron appeared in the doorway, holding onto the frame with one hand, the other in a halting gesture toward them.  He spoke in a pained whisper.  “Hang over potion.” 

“Oh, Ron,” Ginny mumbled, running into the kitchen and pulling open the cabinet. 

Harry pulled out a chair and spun it around in the other direction.  Ron grimaced at the noise this caused, but walked forward, eyes closed, feeling for the chair and finally collapsed, one hand on his thigh as he leaned forward breathing deeply as if trying to keep his stomach in check. 

Harry’s wand immediately began to vibrate in his pocket, the warning that a restraining order had been breached.  “Dammit, I thought I had this fixed!  Here we go again.” 

Ginny popped the top from the bottle and held it to her brother’s lips.  “Drink.”  He tipped it up, sucking in a quick shot, swallowing and letting out a sickening groan. 

Meanwhile, Harry ran to the hearth and locked the Floo, then turned to strengthen the wards on his home to prevent anyone not named Weasley or Potter from Apparating into his house. 

By the time Ginny had topped the bottle and returned the potion to the cabinet, Harry was standing guard over a much pinker looking Ron, now sitting straight.  “What would I do without you, sis?” 

“See?” Harry replied, eyeing Ginny with a sarcastic smile as she returned to stirring the contents of the small cauldron on the counter.  It was giving off a bluish haze and the aroma smelled of eucalyptus and marigolds: an interesting, but not entirely disgusting smell.  She ladled some of the potion into a cup that had already been seeping of tea and set it on the table by Ron.   

“You need to drink this as well.” 

“What is it?” Ron asked, turning to sniff with uncertainty at the brownish liquid. 

“It’s tea and a strengthening potion.  For afterwards.”  Their eyes met and it was clear that Ron was still realizing the consequences of his decision.   

“So, I guess you’ve heard.”   

She paused as he drank it down, sorrowful understanding on her weary face.  “I’ve made enough that if you start feeling the effects of the virus, it should hold off the worst of it for a few days.  Healer Parker will be here soon with the other potion.” 

“Oh, shite.  The Floo!”  Harry ran back into the other room just as a loud grunt and uncomfortable thud rang from the fireplace.  “Shite!”  Harry yelled and then Ron and Ginny heard several apologies, shuffling feet, clangs of metal, whooshing noises and finally they jerked at another loud thud.  “Floo’s Closed!”  Harry yelled. 

Two seconds later, Harry ushered in Healer Parker who was holding his ribs with one hand and a small bottle in the other.  “Ginny, I think he cracked a rib.” 

“Harry!”  Ginny chided and rushed over. 

“I’m sorry!  I completely forgot he was coming.  I just wanted to keep Judge Randolph’s enforcement squad away.”  Ron got up and offered his chair as Harry helped the Healer sit down. 

With a flick of her wrist, Healer Parker was again breathing deeply, his face returning to its normal calm.  “Good work, Ms. Weasley.  You’ll make a fine healer.” 

“Thank you,” she smiled at the healer.  “I just gave Ron some of the strengthening potion I brewed.”  Ginny pursed her lips.  “Um…I have to take some of this to Hermione.” 

“Wait,” Parker added.  “Add a teaspoon of this to it,” he instructed, pulling the topper from the bottle in his hand.  “She probably won’t even notice.  The taste is basically non-existent.”  He turned his attention to Ron.  “She’ll probably start to perk up within about twenty to thirty minutes.  Oh, and don’t use _any_ magic on or around her for a couple of days after the transfer.  Sometimes the sudden shift can cause mood swings or Ph imbalances, among other things.” 

Ginny measured out the potion into a spoon before pouring it in and twirling her wand in a circle above the cup to give it a mix.   

“I need to speak to Ms. Granger, make sure she’s aware of all this.”  Parker commanded, about to rise from his seat. 

“I’ll speak with her,” Ginny countered quite forcefully and even Healer Parker, who barely knew her, backed down into his seat.  “Why don’t the three of you _talk_ for a little while?”  If it weren’t for Harry’s robes, Ginny was sure everyone could have seen her boyfriend’s stomach do a double somersault with a back flip at the suggestion of ‘talking’ to his friend about his up and coming intimacy. 

Ginny started up the steps, cup in hand, three sets of eyes on her until she disappeared on the landing and they were forced to look back at one another again. 

“So…um…” Ron stammered  “…the other potion is the…” 

“Bonding agent.  I left out the love potion ingredients.  I think it’s quite apparent that you don’t need any encouragement in that area.” 

Ron blushed just a bit, but quickly recovered.  “So, now what?” 

Harry had taken to blending in with the wallpaper on the far side of the room, his eyes glowing with a squeamish disquiet as his wand still vibrated on his hip.  However, the house trembled and Harry was forced to look up, Ron and Parker both doing the same. 

Harry spoke to the ceiling.  “Someone’s trying to Apparate in.  Don’t worry, the wards’ll hold.” 

Parker must have thought time was of the essence and quickly continued with his explanation.  “The bonding potion will last for no more than two hours.”  Ron’s attention returned to him.  “I’m sure you can…um…finish in that time?” 

Harry grunted as if about to lose his breakfast, however, Ron appeared rather stoic, his eyes turned away from the other two gentlemen in the room. 

“How will we know it worked?” 

“The last couple that went through this told me that the person absorbing the magic will get a slightly elevated temperature…they’ll feel warm.  The donor may feel a bit overly exhausted, but otherwise, there aren’t any big indicators.” 

“Anything else?  What about…” Ron fidgeted uncomfortably “…you know…protection?  Can I use a contraception spell?” 

“No!  You can’t.  It will block the absorption of your…” 

“Yeah, yeah, alright, I get it.  Bloody hell, no need to go into detail.”  Ron’s eyes flashed painfully to Harry.  “I guess we’ll worry about that later.”  He stood, now pacing the kitchen with repeated deep breaths, just another worry to stack on top of all the others.  “Shite, shite, shite…”  He rubbed the tops of his thighs, then his head, sat down and got back up.  Jittery wasn’t a good enough word to describe the complexity of Ron’s nerve patterns.  The house shook again, adding to everyone’s edginess. 

Parker cleared his throat, unable to hide his own concern.  “Just make sure you um…finish while inside her and stay there for a minute to ensure absorption.  Keep her relaxed and on her back afterwards.  It would help if her hips were tipped up.  Let gravity assist you.  I’ll come back in a little while and test her to see if there’s improvement.”  Parker poured out another spoonful of the potion from his bottle and laid it gently on the table, capping the bottle carefully.  “Drink this and…good luck.”  He flashed a glance to Harry and walked back in the other room. 

Harry seemed to come to life, rushing to follow the man.  “Wait!  Let me get the Floo.”Ron heard a creak and a grunt.  “I said the Floo’s closed!  Oh, hell!”   It sounded as if another person had entered the room before Healer Parker’s voice called out ‘St. Mungo’s’ and a whoosh indicated his departure.  Then another whoosh sounded as Harry’s voice called ‘Ministry of Magic’ with a clang indicating the Floo had locked into place again. 

“Shite, I’m sorry Ron,” Harry reappeared.  “I worked all night trying to get that damn restraining order lifted and I thought it was all fixed, but don’t worry, I’ll keep them away long enough for you to…” Harry groaned, shuffling back to the table.   

“Does Hermione know?” Ron asked, still pacing. 

“No, not unless Ginny’s telling her right now.” 

Ron seemed to have a rush of remorse for the scuff marks he was etching into Harry’s kitchen floor and he sat back down, now staring at the life-altering spoon on the table. 

“Harry…I know this isn’t fun to talk about, but I really need some advice.” 

“I’m not giving you advice on _that_.  You’re on your own, mate.” 

“Not that,” he exhaled.  “What do I do if she fights me?” 

“Fights you?  Why would she…she doesn’t have the strength, Ron.” 

“But, if she says no…I mean…I have to do this, but I don’t know if I can.” 

“Geez, Ron.  I can’t help you there.  Just…I don’t know…think of something sexy…” 

“I’m not talking about _that_.  I mean…oh, hell, maybe I _am_ talking about that.  How do you get off with someone who’s sick?  Isn’t that kind of perverted?  And I can’t just walk out of there knowing I forced her and keep my sanity.  I love her, Harry.”  

Harry felt his tension ease.  “She loves you, too, Ron.” 

“I’m not so sure.” Harry could hear the weakness in his voice, the struggle that his mate was going through and he reached under and pulled his chair closer, resting a supportive hand on Ron’s knee. 

“Hey…it’ll be alright.” 

“You don’t know that.”  Harry couldn’t really argue, for he knew it was true.  

“She might hate me afterwards or…or if this doesn’t work…” 

“It will,” Harry insisted, squeezing his knee for emphasis. 

“It might not.”  Ron finally looked up, his blue eyes creased on the sides with days worth of worry, a lack of sleep, oncoming illness and mostly a tortured heart.  He reached up and clutched at Harry’s shoulder.  “If anything turns to the worse…if I get sick, you need to give her this.”  Ron pulled an envelope from his back pocket. 

“What’s this?” Harry asked, his hand nearly trembling as he accepted the letter. 

“If she doesn’t improve...if she’s not able to read it, I need you to read it to her.  Make sure she hears this.  You promise me that you won’t let her die without hearing this.” 

“You can read it to her.” 

“But, if I can’t…” 

Harry nodded with the rapidity of a bobble-head doll.  “I...I will, mate.  I promise.”  The beginnings of a tear slipped down Harry’s cheek as he gulped something hard. 

“You’ll take care of her for me, right?”  Ron’s eyes searched his for recognition, a deep, soul wrenching plea on his face. 

“Ron…”  Harry choked. 

“You promise you’ll take care of her.  Make sure she moves on.  Encourage her to find someone that will love her and cherish her like she deserves, alright?” 

“You’re gonna be fine.  Ginny’ll find the cure, I know it.  You have to think positive.  You both are going to come out of this just fine.” 

Withdrawing his wand, Ron held it out for Harry.  “I don’t need this anyway and…”  It vibrated, a steady hum indicating the still enforced order.  Harry stared at it for a second and finally took the wand and slipped it into his own pocket.  Ron gave a faint smile, pushed Harry‘s shoulder back and lifted the spoon.  “Bottoms up.”  And the spoon slid into his mouth. 

Ginny’s footsteps could be heard on the stairs and she rounded the corner, her face full of anguish.  “Not good.  She can barely see.  She drank the potion.  I wanted to tell her, to prepare her you know, but…”  She ran to Ron and wrapped her arms around him tightly.  “I couldn’t do it.  What if this doesn’t work?  What if…”   

Patting her back, he knew how she felt without hearing it.  “I know, Gin.  I love you, too.”  Ginny stepped back, gasping through several labored breaths and stroked her hand down the front of his t-shirt with a gentle pat and a nod. 

***   

Ron’s legs carried him up the steps with determination even though his stomach churned with despair.  He had come to a decision.  A decision made days ago if he were honest, although it seemed that this final hour of contemplation had been the hardest wrestling match of his life.  Reaching the landing, his eyes zeroed in on the door to her room, afraid of what he’d find behind it and yet unwilling to give up.

 

He blew out a deep breath, trying to get a grip on his thoughts.  What an incredible, confusing scenario lay before him!  How could he do this to her?  How could he not do this for her?  Would his body react as required when she looked so frail, so weak?  Picturing her lying helpless had the immediate effect of tapping down even his most ardent physical desires.  What if she said no?  To save her life, he may have to endure the title of rapist – even if only in his own mind.  How could he live with himself?  One thought, however, remained stronger than all the rest.  He couldn’t live without her.  He wouldn’t even want to fight for his own life if he wasn’t positive that she would be around afterwards.

 

Without remembering how, Ron found himself facing the door, his sweaty palm on the knob and his heart racing with terror.  He had to convince her.  How could he…

 

The knob turned although he didn’t recall directing his muscles to act.  Somehow the door opened and he moved through, quietly latching it behind him.  Any other time, he would have locked the door and silenced the room, but he knew that Harry and Ginny held vigil downstairs, knowing full well what he was about to do.  There seemed no need for secrecy or silence, only hope and prayers.

 

Without having to look for her, his eyes immediately fell on the mass of brown and gray hair fanned out over several blue and white pillowcases that had her propped up, her pale arms at her side, resting on the quilt that folded neatly across her chest.  It was like watching a corpse in repose and suddenly all the moisture in his throat evaporated, leaving him feeling sickened, hollow.

 

His arms hung like dead weights from his shoulders, his feet glued to one spot as he stared at her.  The image of her seemingly lifeless form bored through him, a deep, unfathomable grief that tested his will.  His body mourned without cause, for the gentle rise and fall of her chest assured him of the life within in her, but the emotions were so intense that all of Ron’s hesitations became swallowed up in the pain.  He would not let her die.  His course was sure – at last.  All other considerations became mute.

 

He didn’t realize his breathing had become so ragged until she turned her head in response.

 

“Hello?” she asked weakly.

 

Ginny had told him that her vision was failing so her question shouldn’t have surprised him, but somehow he felt hurt as if she should have sensed that it was him.  With a slow blink, he shook his head chastising himself for such ridiculous concerns when such greater ones lay before him.

 

Two strong steps placed him beside the bed.  “Hey, ‘Mione.”  He tried to sound cheerful, unsure of what else to try.

 

“Ron?” Her voice was breathy and weak, lids droopy and struggling to open.

 

“Yeah, it’s me, love.”  He couldn’t help the endearment, it fit the situation.

 

“Hi.”  

 

Ron reached down and rested a hand on her quilt covered ankle.  “How are you feeling?”

 

“Not so good.  What about you?”  It looked like she was trying to generate a smile, some misplaced form of sarcasm, but instead it appeared as a painful grimace.

 

“I’m just fine, ‘Mione.”

 

“I heard about the virus.”  Her head shifted weakly on the pillow.  “You promise me you’re going to fight it.”

 

“I will.  Don’t worry about me.  You just have to concentrate on getting better,” he squeezed her ankle with assurance.

 

“That’s what everyone says,” she attempted a breathy chuckle.

 

Moving a bit closer, his heart sank at her withered appearance.  She looked as if merely touching her might snap a bone.  Frowning, Ron sensed all his male desires retreat in fear at harming this frail girl.  Harry was right.  She really was out of time.  “Um…I never got a chance to thank you for going to Judge Randolph like you did.”

 

“It wasn’t right what he did to you.”  She had to stop and catch a breath.  “I’m sorry I didn’t act sooner.  Thank you for coming to get me.”  

 

Ron felt his chest tighten, so much that he couldn’t really come up with anything except the simplest of replies.  “You’re welcome.”

 

Neither spoke for a second.  “Ron?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Was there any earthquake just before?”

 

“What?” and then he realized how the attack on the wards must have felt to her.  “Oh, no, that was just the wards on the house.  I’m not supposed to be near you and…”  Explaining all this seemed so inconsequential, he just shook the thought from his mind.  His mouth felt too dry to even swallow and he licked his lips, trying to prepare for the inevitable.  With one final deep breath for courage, he spoke.  “I learned something yesterday that I need to share with you.”

 

Her fingers crawled toward him.  “Can you come a little closer?  I can’t quite see…”

 

“Sure.”  He stepped to the head of the bed, noticing a nearby chair and pulling it over directly next to the mattress.

 

*** 

 

His face came into better clarity and for the briefest second, her heart beat picked up just seeing him this close.  He reached for her hand, resting it on top but entwining his fingers with hers.  It was warm around hers and she whimpered softly.

 

“Does that hurt?” he asked with a terrified tone, slipping his fingers free.

 

“No.  Please.”  It was all she could manage at the moment, her only desire to keep his hand in hers - to draw some little bit of strength from him.  Even if he would never be hers, she still cherished his friendship.  If his hand was all that he could offer, she would accept it, wallow in it, immerse all of her love into it.  Such was the fear that had lived within her for so long – it had been buried deep, unwilling to show itself to anyone but him and now he was here.

 

She noted how his brows pinched together as if he were in pain.  “’Mione, I…I…”  Distracted by his expression and her own tortured thoughts, she barely heard the beginnings of his confession.  She had her own confession, one that she loathed telling anyone else.  In fact, she hadn’t even admitted it to herself until that moment. 

 

“Ron, I’m scared.”  Finally, the words she had denied herself for weeks escaped the prison of her pride.  She could no longer hold them in.  “I’m so scared.”  Her voice cracked and she gripped his hand as firmly as she could.  “What if they never find a match…what if they do and he’s horrible and…”  

 

He shushed her and added his other hand, patting hers uncomfortably as if he didn’t know what else to do.  “I know you’re scared, but…but I found out something yesterday.”  His jaw tensed.  “ _I_ may be able to help you.”  

 

His twisted expression made her wary and yet his words gave hope.  “What do you mean?”

 

He paused uncomfortably long and Hermione nearly stopped breathing entirely just before he spoke.  “They tested me.”  Blunt.  Straightforward.  Emotionless.

 

No more was said, but Hermione understood his response.  It landed in her gut with the force of a sledge hammer; she stopped mid inhale from the force of the blow.  Ron’s eyes searched hers and she knew he was looking for some sign that a higher being had filled in the rest of his sentence in her head.  

 

“You?”

 

Nodding, his face remained blank.  Of all the pure bloods in the wizarding world, why…how…  Hermione’s stomached fluttered furiously, first in joy, she almost smiled, but pressed it down upon catching the pained look in his face.  The fluttering changed to a deep ache.  She couldn’t place his expression, perhaps anger or regret.  Why wouldn’t he be angry?  What kind of cruel fate had dealt this round? 

 

He withdrew his hands and raked them through his hair, clasping them together in his lap with a deep exhale.  If possible, what little blood still flowed in her body, congealed in her gut.  The temperature of the room dropped in a sudden gust of frigidity that left her even more pale and immobile.  The implications of his words held more torture for both of them than his absence ever had.

 

Her eyes searched his for a response, a clue, anything that might help her determine what to say next.  But, his head had dropped, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped against his forehead.  He looked to be in prayer and for a moment Hermione considered the content, sure of his total abhorrence at the idea.

 

  _Dear Merlin, don’t make me do this._

“Are you sure?” she asked weakly, yet still demanding.

 

“Yes.”  He never looked up.

 

“Why?” she whimpered.

  

_Why does it have to be_ _Ron_ _?  Look at him!  He’s physically in pain at the thought of touching me.  He loves someone else.  The revulsion in his face is just too horrible!_  

Her eyes blurred over even more with a wash of tears.  She had prayed herself, prayed for a miracle, but just when it seemed answered…

 

Ron’s clasped hands moved to his chin and he turned his eyes back to her, apparently confused at her last statement.  At least it was better than the previous glare of disgust.  What else could it be?  As much as she hated the idea, she would have accepted the help of a total stranger, if a match had been found.  It would have been foul and meaningless, she would have felt dirty and used, but she would have lived and hopefully, eventually pushed the memory from her mind.  This, however, had the makings of a life-altering encounter.  To accept this from _him_ , knowing he wasn’t truly hers, just a male donor going through the motions.  No matter how elated it would make her feel to be with him, she knew her heart would break into a million pieces long before the rest of her organs failed.  

 

He leaned in, speaking softly, his brows still knitted in confusion.  “Do you understand what this means?”  He appeared to be in extreme agony as he spoke.

 

“I…”  She knew what it meant for her, but words could not express her dilemma.  Maybe she didn’t understand what it meant to him or maybe this confusion was just her brain shutting down the reasoning centers within it.  A fresh wave of fear thumped within her, stronger than any she had experienced before.  She turned in on herself, attempting to hide from him.  Tears had been plentiful as of late.  She almost felt dried out, until now.  Her shoulders weighed so heavily on her emaciated form, rolling to her side was nearly impossible, but she managed to turn away from him just a bit.  Her hands pulled up in fists in front of her face.

 

“I don’t want to die!”  She blurted it out, louder than she thought herself capable and yet weak to the average ear.  

 

Something warm and flat met her lower back.  His hand bobbed back as she sobbed, but remained planted against her in comfort.  With one swift motion, her body rolled returning to its position on her back.  Easily.  It took no effort and then she realized Ron had her cradled in his arms, pulling her close with such ease.  The chair vacated, he now sat on the bed.  Hermione didn’t realize how severely her body shook until pressed against his firm chest.  She wanted to fist his shirt and wail, to stay safe and warm here forever.  The soapy aroma of his hair filled her like inhaling a shot of ammonia and she gasped through her sobs with sudden clarity.  This wasn’t a romantic or even friendly embrace, this was one of sympathy, pity…poor Hermione, she’s lost her magic. 

 

“No!”  Her palms pressed against his chest.  “I can’t….I…”  She struggled with all the effort she could build.

 

He refused to back away, his arms wrestling against her, even though she was sure it took him little effort.  Holding her tight and close, his cheek pressed against hers.  His words were soft.  Spoken, even in this solitary lair, only for her to hear.  

 

“Hermione.  Shh…it’s alright.  I’m not going to let you die.  Please don’t push me away.  I’m here to help you.”

 

  _Oh, my God!  He’s going to do this!_

She panicked, struggling, eyes wide as he continued to hold her tight against him.  She couldn’t imagine him ever forcing himself on a woman.  The thought made her nauseous, not for her own body for she knew that it was lost, but for the repercussions of such an act on him.  He would have to live with this forever, something that would come between him and his wife, a sorrow that would plague him the rest of his days.  Her life wasn’t worth this.  

 

The adrenaline pumping through her veins were her only source of strength and she pushed, but the room swam, the walls waving and turning.  It was impossible for her to keep him off.  His firm chest mashed against her breasts, his sculpted arms encasing her.  She shivered – another cold flash.  Why was he so warm?  She fought her own senses, not wanting to drown in his embrace, but it kept pulling her down, deeper, deeper but instead of falling into an icy blackness, she sunk into a calm pond of the warmest, clearest blue waters she could imagine.

 

A hand slid into her hair, gentle, soothing.  “I can’t do this…” his voiced choked “…if you fight me.  I won’t.”  The fear in his voice rung in her ears.  For a second she could picture tears in his eyes.

 

“Please, Ron.”  She whimpered, knowing her struggle was futile.  Her magic gone, all she had were her words and they would have to convince him. “Don’t do this.  Save your strength.  Just let me go.”

 

“What?”  His face pulled back, this time the watery eyes glared at her in anger.

 

“This isn’t you.”  She tried to swallow.  “You wouldn’t do this to a woman.”

 

His brows knitted together so fiercely they met the coppery fringe.  His eyes softened, still angry, but mixed with something else.  Then, just as quickly as he had gathered her against him, his arms slackened and he jerked back, the whites of his eyes eclipsing the blue as he stared at her.

 

“Hermione…I…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, but she knew his meaning and looked away, ashamed now from the guilt of thinking such a thing about this wonderful man.  “Oh, ‘Mione.  This is your life!  Don’t you think you could put aside any…”

 

She sucked in a wobbly breath, gathering some courage.  “Ron, please, you have to understand something.  I…I’d rather die not having you, than to know we were only together for a…a pity shag.” Her voiced hitched higher.  “Can’t you understand that?  I’d rather die!”  The tears began to streak over her cheeks.  Her broken heart was just the last of a million other broken pieces than could not be healed.  She desperately wanted to run away – let her legs carry her, let the wind blow against her skin.  Being this close to such pain was suffocating.  If she only had the energy to stand.  Her face squinted in concentration, trying to lift her legs, to move, but the only thing that seemed to work was the course of tears that dripped from her lashes.

 

The mattress shifted and a warm palm slipped over her wrist.  It slowly trailed up her arm, leaving a set of goose bumps in its wake.  And then, it tickled her neck and cupped her jaw, holding her head.  Ron leaned in slowly, kissed her cheek and finally met her eyes.  His expression remained kind, but she only saw that same empathy.  

 

“Hermione.”  His voice was low, firm.  “Please believe me, this isn’t pity…but even if it were, I wouldn’t let you die.”  He swallowed with an audible gulp, his words slow and determined.  “I can’t let you die.”  He rested a palm on the other side of her shoulder and leaned in, his blue eyes meeting hers with quiet intent.

 

How could she explain this to him?  It was just too hard.  She wanted to resist, but she just couldn’t, not with him looking at her like this, with his body so close to hers.  Even her moral and emotional strength seemed to wane.

 

  _No, Hermione, he’s only doing this to stave off his own guilt.  Even if he is, I still love him._ _I have to tell him.  It’s my last chance._

She closed her eyes, trying to gather a lost breath.  “Death is far better than living like this, Ron.  I shouldn’t need to explain that to you.”  He blinked, still looking confused, tortured.  She had to find a way to erase the creases along his eyes.  “I realize this is partially my fault.  I should have written more, made more of an effort with us.”  Her fingers dared to touch him, brushing the fringe back from his eyes.  They were so clear, beyond blue, his skin warm and flushed, dotted with freckles, his ginger lashes thick, even the scattering of whiskers proving his manhood seemed to attract her.  If she could, she’d like to touch him every minute of every day for the rest of her life – even if that only lasted seconds.

 

“I thought about you all the time.  I should have told you every minute.”  Hastily, she wiped her eyes, finding some bit of lingering strength in her arm.  “But, I’m glad you found someone.  I need you to know that I don’t hold any grudges.  I wish only for your happiness, I really do and I don’t want you to do this and ruin your relationship.  I’m not worth the effort.” 

 

“What are you talking about?” he asked, his head shaking with deeply pitted brows.  

 

“What’s left for me here, Ron?  I have no life, no ability to work or live in this society, no family ties here, no relationships, no reason…”  She truly didn’t see it coming, but she surely felt it.  His lips brushed softly over hers, swallowing up her words. In fact, all motivation for speaking suddenly fell silently aside.  The heat from his sculpted body closed in on her, several calloused fingers trailing up her arm as he moved his soft mouth languidly over hers.

 

Her body’s traitorous will drew what little strength she had and reached for him, her fingers finding the hem of his sleeve.  A cacophony of thoughts rioted in her head.  Years worth of memories of him, his smile, his jokes, his casual touches tingling her at the same time her nerves sent millions of signals about the full, moist pressure on her mouth and the contours of his bicep as her fingers inched inside his sleeve.  Her arms burned where he had touched her, but the heat felt more rejuvenating than any medicine they could have given her.  His lips continued, gently, softly.  Protectively, the supple mouth stroked her jaw, just long enough for her to gasp in a silent breath and then they were back, covering her lips with indescribable contentment.

 

She wanted more, ached for more.  The desire was cruelly demanding of a body that could do little but lay and hope.  Even with her whole heart and soul screaming to touch him, her limbs would not cooperate.  The frustration built up in her eyes, her lashes moist with fresh tears as she trembled.

 

He must have felt her for he withdrew his lips and opened his eyes.  They were the deepest sapphire she had ever seen, a starlit sky on a clear night, watching over her.  His large palm caressed the side of her head, holding her like a fragile porcelain figurine.  She had never seem him act with such tenderness as if holding the remains of a flower whose petals hung by a tenuous thread.

 

“ _I’m_ here, Hermione.  Live for _me_.  There’s no one else in my life.  Just you.”  

 She heard him, wanted to believe him, but her previously overheard conversation contradicted his assurances. _He’s lying, but oh how I love hearing it._

Once again, his lips brushed hers gently.  “You are the only thing that matters to me.  This is all my fault, not yours.”  His other hand joined in to cradle her head.  “I should have gone with you.  I know that now.  You deserve to be reminded every day what a wonderful, brilliant, beautiful woman you are and I’ve failed miserably.  Please let me do this for you, to make some kind of amends.  Let me love you, even if it’s just this once.”

 

“But, Diane…”

 

“Doesn’t matter.”  His thumb reached out to brush aside a tear on her soft cheek.  “Only you, my love.”  Again, the endearment, a razor blade slicing her in two.

 

Hermione felt dizzy.  And, for the first time in weeks, she knew it had no physiological cause.  It was as if skirting on the edge of a dream.  Everything blurred into a mass of shapes and colors, all except the crystal clarity of sapphire, snow and coal.  She willed herself to believe, to become one with the dream and closed her eyes.

 

*** 

 

Ron’s pulse bashed through him as he watched her lashes meet.  Suddenly her head felt heavier and he realized she had stopped struggling, the full weight of her body relaxing into his cupped hands.  Either she had given up her argument or lost consciousness.  For a moment he panicked and brushed his thumbs softly over her eyes and cheeks, hoping to get some kind of response.  Finally, after stroking the hair off of her forehead, a soft ‘ah’ puffed from her open lips.  He looked down at them, full, pale pink with just the slightest moisture from her left over tears still coating them and he leaned in, gently running his tongue over their surface, the salty taste stinging him with passion and pain.

 

She licked her lips in response, her mouth still slightly open and inviting, eyes remaining closed.  He pressed his lips to hers again, his tongue darting through, searching out hers, probing gently.

 

  _Oh, god, how I’ve missed this._

This time she responded, her lips moving across his.  His heart soared.  A single slender finger inched across his leg and he replied, the back of his hand trickling down her bare arm to her wrist.  She shivered.

 

“Are you cold?” he whispered, his lips speaking gently against her own.

 

“No.”  The sound was so soft, like the echo on a midnight breeze.

 

Ron was lost in the sensation and felt the desire stirring below.  Yet, he remained aware of the fragility in this smooth, fragile form entrusted to his care.  His lips moved across her jaw, to her ear, his teeth raking delicately over her lobe.  Being an inexperienced lover wasn’t going to stop him from affording her every soft touch, every gentle caress and kind word he could imagine.  He would make this beautiful for her.  She deserved it.

 

Breathing out warm puffs of air, his mouth slipped to her collarbone and laid down a trail of feather light kisses along its unblemished form until he dipped into the hollow of her white throat.  She sighed and tipped her head, offering her neck willingly to his touch.  Relief washed over him and his stomach unknotted, then pulsed.  There would be no need for coersion, he could love her… _really_ love her and, he prayed, save her life.

 

Like a ghostly predator in the night, he quietly toed off his shoes, one by one, his legs crawling up onto the bed, one edging carefully between her quilt covered knees.  His body responded happily with male enthusiasm.  One less concern.  Now his thoughts turned to desire, to her.

 

*** 

 

Ron’s muscular form shadowed over her.  He was so much larger than her and yet she had never felt so safe in all her life.  Somewhere in the back of her head, a little voice was preparing her for what lay ahead and yet she couldn’t concentrate on anything except for the warmth of his lips as they dipped and pressed into her sternum.  She had lost her will to fight him; instead she was now blissfully at peace.  Here, at what could be the very end of her short life, she had found only happiness.  This was Ron.  Her Ron.  The man she had dreamt of, fantasized about, watched for years.  Pure joy tingled in every limb, or perhaps that was from the feel of his fingertips slipping lazily down her shoulders, scooping up inches of fabric from her nightdress in the process.  The cooler air danced on her skin with each centimeter revealed, the edge of her gown slipping lower on her chest as his finger brushed under its edge.  But, his warm lips seemed to cover each exposed spot, leaving pools of dewy fire across the tops of her breasts.  She allowed her thoughts to transport her body to a different place and time, enveloping her in a bubble of safety and love.

 

  _Oh, god.  Oh, god, yes._

She wanted him so desperately.  It seemed unfair.  Not to her, but to him.  To offer himself so fully and get so little in return.  Her hand trembled toward him, hoping to participate in some way, to offer her own encouragement.  With a gentle tug, she lifted the t-shirt from his back as he leaned over her.  His lips retreated, settling back on her mouth, but they demanded more this time, his tongue coaxing hers to action, sliding over her teeth, dipping into her mouth over and over with unrestrained possession.  It was making her delirious and she reached out blindly, her palms landing on the heavenly ripple of muscles in his stomach.  

 

He was hard all over.  Hard and smooth and totally desirable.  Pressing into the hills and valleys of muscle, her hands absorbed the warmth as her fingers followed a line of soft red hair, knowing where it led.  It grew fuller as she explored, her fingers finally landing on the buckle of his belt.  She gripped the waistband of his denims, belt and all, and pulled him down with her last ounce of strength, screaming at her body to finally take what her heart wanted.

 

Unable to stop the tornadic emotions building in her chest, she whimpered with need, giving in to her deepest desires.  The words came out in pieces, wedged between stuttered breaths.  “Make love to me, Ron.  Please.  Please.”  She knew how it sounded and as much as she loathed the suggestion of begging, there was nothing left to say.  It was true and utter surrender.

 

His mouth released her and his breathing stopped, irises burning the deepest blue she had ever witnessed.  Hermione knew what she had done.  Permission had been granted and Ron was making his final decision, weighing his options.  She hoped to see confirmation from him of that decision.

 

The corners of his mouth tugged up and he blinked softly.  “Don’t cry, ‘Mione.”  He kissed her lips – just a touch.  She couldn’t pull her eyes away from his, but she felt his fingers fumble with the satin cord tie at the neckline of her gown, her stomach dancing in reply.  He leaned forward and kissed her again, across the eyelid, his fingers tapping gently across her skin as the knot loosened.  She noticed his hand lift and the white cords ribboned through his fingers as he pulled it free, his expression wide with awe and disbelief.  A strange tingle raced through her thighs.

 

Those deep blue eyes stayed with her, guiding her, holding her in the present as he spread the fabric apart and pushed the neckline of her gown down, the cool air meeting her exposed nipple.  Without looking, she knew it had hardened instantly and she sucked in a tiny breath.  Ron seemed to hesitate, perhaps just shocked at the situation he found himself in, or enjoying the anticipation of what was to come.  Suddenly, he must have made his decision for the warmth of his large palm cupped the side of her breast and she couldn’t help the sigh that broke from her throat.  He blinked and slowly tilted his head down – she knew – unable to keep himself from looking at her bared breast.

 

“Beautiful,” he whispered, just as his thumb grazed her nipple.

 

An eye-rolling warmth flushed through her center and her body seemed to draw from its last reserves of strength and flexed her hips toward him, her fingers dipping slightly into the waistband of his denims.  He responded in kind, a rush of air and soft accepting moan.  Her fingers fumbled, trying to release his belt from the buckle, but the energy just wasn’t in her paralyzed knuckles; her hands fell back to the mattress.  Ron seemed to recognize this and sat back, stroking her arms, almost as if giving them permission to relax.

 

She felt like crying, partially from joy, partially from her inability to share such a wonderful thing with him.  Her body had wanted this for so long.  Nights spent imagining what her first time would be like and here she lay, nearly immobile, unable to show Ron the desire she felt for him.

 

He smiled, more in his eyes, for his lips brushed hers again.  “It’s alright.  I can do it.”  His words came out breathy in her ear.  Enticing.  A jolt of ice water traveled up her neck and her head swam with anticipation.  She could feel his cheek rise against her own and knew he was really smiling now.  It made her grin in return and she relaxed, happiness replacing the angst.

 

The mattress shifted and she heard a faint rustle of movement.  Unable to trust her eyes, she relied on the sounds around her.  Then, the soft glow of daylight on her eyelids faded to a dimmer red.  He had shaded the room.  Her first thought, the depressing one, was that he didn’t want to really look at her during this, but she quickly pushed it from her mind, instead dwelling on the romantic nature of his actions.  More rustling preceeded the clink of metal and the jostling of fabric.  His actions were obvious, but for the first time in years, she felt flirtatious and happy.

 

“What are you doing?” she asked with a curious smile, but then heard the rip of a zipper and trembled with a deep inhale.

  

“You know what I’m doing.”  Ron cleared his throat and a burst of cool air met her thighs.  He had lifted the quilt off of her.  She felt embarrassed, knowing all the soft curves she used to cherish had withered in the previous weeks of starvation, offering little to entice a man.  

 

The mattress sunk again and then a burst of heat settled next to her.  A tight, warm and naked leg brushed hers.  

 

“I’ve dreamt of this for so long.” he whispered, just as the weight of his body came down beside her.  

 

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat at the sight revealed to her.  Even in the now dimmed light, his shoulders were broad and strong, his chest dusted with a light spattering of freckles.  It was impossible to keep her eyes from imagining what lay below the quilt…a smooth, tight, rippling stomach and a trail of ginger hair pointing toward… “Me, too,” she moaned and felt a gush of warmth race between her legs.

 

He was leaning on an elbow, over her, his face just inches away.  Hermione’s heart and lungs refused to cooperate with each other, a mix of gasps and beats and pangs and thumps bounded through her system as she sensed his fingers under the quilt, making steady progress up the outside of her thigh.  

 

“You…you’re…” she couldn’t breathe, “so gorgeous, Ron.”  He blushed a bit brighter, but she noticed how his eyes glanced down to her partially revealed breast, surrounded by white cotton and lace.  

 

“So are you.  Far too beautiful for me to deserve.”

 

Time seemed to stand still until she realized it was actually Ron’s hesitation.  Raising her head, she caught his eyes once again knotted in some kind of concern.

 

“Hermione, are you going to be alright with this?  With me…afterwards?”

 

“Having second thoughts?” she asked, her heart sinking.

 

His hand slipped behind her neck and held her firmly as if to emphasize his point.  “No.  Absolutely not, Hermione.  I have no doubts and I’ll have no regrets, but I realize what this means to you.  If you need to forget this afterwards, I’ll understand.  If you don’t want me...”

 

Her mouth opened, but no sound came forth.  Instead her eyes squeezed together and when she opened them, her lashes blurred with moisture.  Her mind wrestled with a reply, each one sounding more desperate than the next.  Azure irises darted to hers, back and forth as if watching the tennis match in her head and he must have decided to help with the decision.  The hand on her neck lifted her toward him; his mouth smashed against hers.  This was not tender and gentle, this was passionate and crazy and the words finally found their escape.

 

“I _do_ want you, Ron.  I don’t want to ever forget.”

 

Reclaiming her mouth, his heavy thigh pushed across hers, slipping between her legs.  And then something she had never felt before, long and stiff, separated by cotton, dragged over her hip as he shifted himself on top of her.  She wasn’t sure where the energy came from, but her hips arched into him, her hands groped over his shoulders, nails trailing down his muscular back in lustful abandon.  He cried into her mouth.  

 

Ripping himself away, his eyes blazed dark as ink – wanting.  Somehow her heart kept beating, despite the insistent heaves of desire and she dug her fingertips into the soft flesh of his slender hips, slipping below his boxers. 

 

Her deepest desires finally took over all reason, pushing aside the concepts of pity and resolutely aiming forward.  All of her past arguments, nights of reasoning with herself – none mattered anymore.  Her conviction had done a one eighty, resolute denial had changed to determined need.  “Ronald Weasley.”  Hermione forced the words, breathy, but insistent and far too forward, but when death is at the door, you have to take action.  “Now you listen.  I refuse to die without having you just once.  Now, if you stop again, I swear I will come back from the grave and kill you, do you understand?”

 

His eyes lit up at her jest, a toothy grin finally filling his panting face before turning serious again.  “I believe you would.”  He pressed himself against her.  “You’ve always been mine.  Do you know that?”

 

Within milliseconds his mouth covered hers again, his tongue twisting, stroking hers.  Ron was right, but she felt like the table had been turned.  He was hers, finally!  With increasing urgency, her hands tried to cover every patch of skin, every curve and muscle, to remember them forever.  Her arms jerked with tiny bursts of strength, her fingers pulling them across like clawing through dirt.  She knew time was of the essence.  If this ended up not curing her, she wanted this first and only time with him to be the memory of her lifetime.

 

His kisses slowed, teeth no longer bumping hers, only soft, full lips and the tip of his tongue dipping teasingly into her mouth.  At first she wondered why.  Perhaps he had felt her bony frame and was turned off?  Maybe he…  Once again, her negative thoughts were derailed by another sensation.  That swollen, smooth symbol of his manhood twitched and stretched, pushing against her already moist knickers.

 

“Ah” Soft whimpers of anticipation that could not be contained escaped her lips.

 

He carefully pulled the extra pillows out from under her head and shoulders and she fell, completely horizontal underneath him.  At first she wondered why, but pushed it aside with trust.  There had to be a reason for his actions.  Rising back onto his knees, the quilt slipped down his back and Hermione’s gaze locked onto the full extent of his desires for her.  Long and full, it expanded against the fabric that failed to contain it and she couldn’t stop staring.  A thrill of impossibility teased her, for the suggestion that this would fit inside her was mind blowing.  The muscles at her apex tensed and eased, something wet coating her knickers in preparation.

 

She had no idea what inspired him, but he definitely was on a mission, his broad chest rising and falling in rapid succession.  Crawling backward toward the foot of the bed, his large hands gripped her carefully, but possessively around the waist and pulled her gently down the mattress.  The hem of her gown hitched up her legs as she found herself in the middle of the bed, her feet dangling off the end of the cool blue sheets.

 

“You alright?” he asked, his eyes blazing with desire and yet still concerned for her well-being.

 

Her throat felt too dry to speak, to ask what he was doing, so she nodded and tried to shift on the mattress, the cool air tickling at skin that had never previously been exposed to his view.  Unfortunately, her limbs lacked the ability to do anything but bend to his will.  Still, she felt no fear, no uncertainty, only alluring excitement.  She entrusted her body to him, her heart and soul, too.  The room hummed with a strange sense of lustful anticipation, but tinged with peace and contentment.  Hermione felt exposed, like the main course of an upcoming feast and Ron’s eyes nearly dripped with salacious hunger, yet she felt only joy and acceptance in his promising touch. 

 

As he knelt at the foot of the bed, his eyes grew soft and he smiled easily.  She sensed he had something to say and waited patiently, for what else could she do?  When his rough fingertips began to nudge below the edge of her gown, she considered that perhaps his moment of silent contemplation had been in consideration of this next step.

 

He licked his lips, now full and moist with anticipation.  “Can I slip your knickers off?”

 

  _Oh, god!  We’re really going to do this…_  

It seemed a silly question and yet the tone pushed all joking aside as she felt a gush of wetness trickle over her womanly regions.  His fingers had arrived at the top edge, but paused until she nodded and then slipped over the elastic and lace, and smoothly stroked them down her hips.  She felt stupid just lying there, unable to assist, but Ron didn’t seem to mind.  With the touch of a trained Healer, he deftly picked up her leg and used his free hand to tug the garment over her hip, then the other.  Finally backing away and easing his way down her legs, he slid the already moist garment off her feet.

 

She shivered.  He noticed.  Reaching behind him, he pulled the quilt over himself and carefully lowered himself onto her, his skin spreading heat, but his weight resting cautiously on his arms and legs.

 

He touched her cheek.  A caress.  “If anything I do hurts you in any way, you have to tell me, alright?  I want this to be wonderful for you.”

 

She nodded, but felt the need to voice what may already be obvious.  “Ron, um…I…”

 

“What?”  His eyebrows rose, the hesitation in her voice glaring at him like a large stop sign to any young male about to cross the point of no return.

 

“You do know that I’ve never…you know…done this?”

 

His expression softened, almost relieved at her statement.  “Not at all?”  She shook her head.  He understood.  Obviously, he hadn’t been sure and for a moment Hermione considered how he might have felt thinking of her with other men, probably with John.  It probably tore at him the same way her visions of Ron and Diane had torn within her.  

 

“Have you?” she asked hesitantly, needing to know.  Even though she knew it would be just a bit painful to find him experienced, she almost hoped he was.  One of them had to know what to do in order to get this done and this was one time where she couldn’t be the instructor.

 

His eyes looked pained.  He didn’t speak and she tried to push away the images of him and Diane, suddenly not wanting to know.

 

“That’s a stupid question.  I’m sorry.  Look, Ron, I didn’t expect you to be a hermit when I left.”  It was exhausting to speak, but she had to explain.  “I just never found anyone that I wanted to be with, but if you did…”

 

“It’s not that, Hermione.  You don’t know how many times I thought of you.  At Hogwarts, I dreamt of my first time and it was always with you.  After the battle, I wanted you to be my first.  Honestly.  The moment just never felt right and I wanted you to be truly in love with me before we…”  He looked away.  “But, then you moved and I just got lost and a little too drunk a couple of times and, I know it’s not an excuse, I should have used some restraint, but well…”

 

“I understand.”  There wasn’t time to hold grudges.

 

“You shouldn’t.  I can’t understand myself.  I wish I could explain…I’m really sorry.  I was weak and stupid.”

 

“Don’t be sorry.  You were lonely.  It’s my fault.  At least you know what to expect.  Me, on the other hand, I’m fairly terrified right now.”

 

“And a bit excited?” he asked, tenderly stroking a tendril of hair off of her cheek.  

 

She grinned in response.  “A bit.”

 

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m not like an old pro at this.  It’s still pretty new, especially while being sober.  And, to be honest, my heart really wasn’t in it on those other occasions.  That isn’t the case now.”

 

She smiled.  In a way it was a first for him, too and it made her feel just slightly better.

 

“I can’t believe that you actually want to do this.  I mean, look at me.  My hair is a mess, gray and thin, I’ve had no appetite, I know I look awful.”

 

“You are more beautiful to me than ever.”  His finger twirled a curl.

 

She warmed, but continued, still feeling somehow less appealing.  “But, I can’t even see you unless you’re right on top of me.”

 

“Then that’s where I’ll stay.”  His eyes twinkled and he kissed her again.  It felt more relaxed this time, like they understood each other.  Their mouths warmed again, enjoying the softness, the ease of their togetherness.  

 

With a lazy touch, he gripped her wrist and slowly eased her arm above her head, then the other, a trail of chills racing directly to her pelvis.  She didn’t know why, but had to admit that it seemed to enhance the excitement.  Maybe he knew that it would and did this purposefully.  There was no need to restrain her arms for even if she could move them, she didn’t want to.  His lips moved to her forearm and then licked and kissed his way down the inside of her elbow, across the smooth curve of her bicep.  It was his breath, warm on the side of her anxious breast that made her heart skip a beat.  She waited for the new sensation, mewing softly in anticipation and then his tongue darted out and she moaned freely as her nipple hardened against the moisture lapping over its tip.  Soon, tongue was replaced by lips, whole mouths, teeth nibbling lightly and she twisted to offer more, her full breast pressing into his pink lips.  At least one part of her body had retained a bit of fullness.  The nerves in her chest seemed to link directly to the ones between her legs for she shifted, rubbing them against his hips, trying to get some friction in that spot.  Not sure where it came from, her energy level improved just slightly.  Subconsciously, she thanked Ginny for that potion.

 

Ron moved to the other side, cupping her breast and pushing the fabric off to repeat the process, his own moans sending more spikes of icy heat into her pelvis.  Her head shifted against the mattress as her body began to ache for his touch in other places.  It was becoming unbearable as she rolled her arse against the bed.  

 

Just when she didn’t think she could stand another second, his warm hand eased under her thigh.  The skin bumped up in tingles where he touched her.  “I want you so much,” he whispered and she sighed out a breathy “yes” in response.  Carefully, just as with her arms, he drew her immobile leg up and pressed it open, coaxing her calf to wrap around his hip.

 

 “Touch me, please.” She writhed subtly beneath him and then the hand on her calf, glided under her knee, tickling the skin inside her thigh and then a lone finger slid into the curly hair, dipping gently, teasingly into her slippery folds, gliding over the entrance before tripping over her pearl of nerves.

 

“Oh,” her muscles contracted involuntarily. He did it again and she cried louder.

 

“You’re soaking wet, love.”  Ron paused, obviously realizing for the first time that despite her illness and their separation, she still wanted him just as much as he did her.

 

“Yes.”

 

“You want this.”  It was an answer to his own question.  

 

“Yes.”

 

His libido seemed to surge with lustful joy.  “And I’m fucking harder than I’ve ever felt in my life.  I’ve wanted you for so long.”  His voice was raspy and urgent.

 

“Oh, god!”  His finger settled on the tiny bump at the top of her dark pink lips and stroked it.  All thoughts became lost in a haze of lust and emotion.  Her waiting center ached with emptiness.  All she wanted was completion and she arched against his hand, rocking, finding a gentle rhythm as his fingers caressed her folds, a fingertip slipping inside every few strokes.  Her moans increased in intensity as her body crept closer and closer to completion.

 

“Oh, fuck, Hermione.  I can’t stand it.  I need to be in you.”

 

Those words caused a deep throb in her vagina.  His hand withdrew and she nearly cried at the sense of abandonment, her body still rocking, trying to return the feeling.  She wanted to beg him to go back, but, a second later, the fabric that had separated them was gone, the smooth tip of his probing cure resting in the juice coated valley.

 

Shifting cautiously, he withdrew, sitting back on his legs.  She opened her eyes in time to see him push insistently but gently on the inside of her thigh, opening her up completely to him.  Placing both hands on her hips, he lifted her to rest on the tops of his thighs, her legs bent back.  The head of his member was right at her entrance and her eyes slipped shut again, lost in the fantasy, praying for the next moment.  She need only push herself forward and soothe the terrible ache in her center, but Ron did not advance.

 

She hummed, encouraging him, but instead his voice spoke closely to her.  “Hermione, love, open your eyes.”  She did.  His body hovered over her, his eyes were so close, so clear, so…in love.  She nearly cried.  “Are you ready?” he asked.

 

“Yes.”

 

Keeping his eyes fixed on her, he pushed and she felt her slick, swollen lips part to the pressure.  But, her body’s instincts drew her back, a forced reflex to the sudden intrusion it had never experienced before.  He studied her, clearly waiting for her to relax before he tried again, probing the outer walls.  Still the pressure of it made her flinch, her body’s forced reaction to the potential for pain.  She wanted to speak, but was immersed in new sensations.  “Easy.  It’s alright.  We’ll take it slow,” he promised.

 

Ron gripped his engorged member, just a couple of fingers as he rubbed it over her lips, giving her body time to adapt to the sensation.  Again, he pushed.  This time she felt it sink in just a bit more and she sucked in a breath.  “There you go.  Just take a minute.”  He petted her skin, her thigh, the flat planes of her stomach, trying to soothe her, give her the time she needed to accept him.  Finally he settled more squarely on top of her, his arms scooping around her shoulders to hold her against him.

 

“Stay with me, keep your eyes with me, I need to see you…” he urged, the words duel meaning ravaging her stomach.  The tendons in his powerful thighs tightened and she felt the thickening invasion as he advanced, gliding smoothly.  And she drew him in, her lips stretching to accept him and yet tightening in pain, a warm fullness caused her to cry out at this unexpected sensation.  His hand brushed gently over her hair, cupping the back of her head, holding her firmly as his eyes focused on her face.  They burned sapphire with torturous pleasure as he sighed and moaned at the sensation.  She felt his fingertips dig into her shoulders, just before he moved.  With one final satisfying grunt, he pressed in and she cried out from the sting as her walls opened for the first time, her hymen breaking to his force.  

 

“Oh!”  It burned, but his eyes…oh, his eyes cooled her like pools of freshly melted snow, those clear, sapphire eyes surrounded her in the gray light.  They held her.  

 

“I’m sorry.  Are you alright?” he asked with a pant, pausing to give her a moment to adjust.  She nodded and closed her eyes, scrunching them together at the sting, but his voice came back immediately, demanding.  “Hermione, please look at me.”

 

Obeying, her eyes flew open just as he thrust his hips and took her completely with his own groan of pleasure.  She cried out, not so much from pain – though present - but from the realization that she now belonged to him.  Dreams of this moment couldn’t compare to the actual event.  His strong arms held her close, firm, protectively – the heat from his large, muscular body and pulsing, swollen cock overwhelmed her.  But, it was his eyes.  She was looking into his soul and it was perfect.  He was overwhelmed just as she, it shown clearly on his face.  Nothing could have prepared her for this.

 

His hips drew back and pressed in again.  The friction remained, but it was slick, the burn a bit less.  Leaving her shoulder, a hand wrapped around her hip, lifting her against him, changing the angle as he pistoned again and again, picking up speed, his balls slapping against her gently with each deepening stroke.  The sting remained but the pain erased, replaced by the satisfied feeling of fullness as she rocked to meet him.

 

“Oh, god, Hermione.  You feel so good, so fucking good!”  He grunted this time with a much more forceful thrust, pressing her body into the mattress, the bed frame rattling softly against the wall.  Again and again and again.  And yet, never too rough on her frail body.  His mouth fell open, sucking in air, but his eyes stayed with her.  “Hermione.  I…” his face scrunched up, loosing restraint.  “I’m not going to last very long.  Oh, yes, yes…”  He cried and stilled, visibly shaking, finally taking his eyes off her as he tipped his head back in surrender to his body’s spasms.  She gasped at his final thrust, but never looked away, his face her anchor to this world, to a love she had prayed for, to a life he now offered her as she felt his love spilling into her.  

 

He stopped, muscles twitching, eyes finally closed in exhaustion as his head tipped to her shoulder.  Her legs ached.  Truthfully, her body was still aroused, still wanting and yet, she felt satisfied and happy at their union.  Hermione didn’t read just history and spell books.  She knew the workings of the female body, knew that her own climax wouldn’t necessarily be achieved in this way and she was prepared for that unfortunate outcome.  Oddly, it didn’t bother her this time, weakness aside.  This had been so much more fulfilling at an emotional level; her aching center still twitched and tingled even without the life altering crash at the end.

 

He struggled to rise up on his elbows, as if suddenly coming to his senses and lifting his weight off her weakened body.  “Oh, I’m sorry.  I hope that wasn’t too rough.”  She honestly couldn’t move, but it didn’t bother her.  Now that he was inside, she would have been happy to keep him there, keep them joined for hours, her ankles hooked together limply behind him.  She brushed the fringe off his sweaty forehead, his face glowed and she smiled, feeling him twitch subtly inside of her.  “Ron, look at me.”

 

Using his own words against him, Ron opened his eyes.  They sparkled with such happiness.  She just had to tell him.  “I love you.”

 

His smile brightened even more and it warmed her, at least she thought it was his smile that was doing that.  Her limbs tingled, a thrill of electricity starting in her pelvis and radiating into her thighs and stomach.  She exhaled deeply.  It was the best she had felt in weeks.  Even her useless legs had the energy to slide off his hips.

 

Remaining fully sheathed within her, he stroked her hair and kissed her tenderly for several minutes.   Then, carefully, slowly, he slipped free of her, pressing another supple kiss to her lips.  Rolling to his right, he fell exhausted to the sheet, his boxers still wrapped around his calves.  

 

She laughed, light and breathy.  Odd, for she hadn’t had the will or the means to really laugh in weeks.  It felt good.  His freckled skin was flushed and shined with sweat from his exertion, but his features were calm and relaxed.  She didn’t think about her condition, any lack of energy or some heart-wrenching will and testament – all she wanted was to kiss his forehead.

 

Still smiling, she looked to the bedside table, expecting to find his wand resting beside her own, but it wasn’t there.  “Where’s your wand?”

 

“I left it with Harry.  It’s still vibrating from the restraining order.  I didn’t want it to shake the whole time I was up here.”

 

“Looks like we did a like vibrating of our own,” Her own wand was hanging off the edge of the bedside table – probably from the quake of their union.  She wouldn’t be surprised if the bed had moved clear across the room.  Rolling to her side with an ease that shocked her, she pressed her lips to his forehead and held her wand out for him.  “Need to clean up?”

 

This time it was his eyes that darted open in surprise.  “You moved.”

 

“Oh, yeah.  I guess.”

 

“Do you…I mean…did it work?  How do we know?”

 

“I’m not sure.”

 

“But, you feel better?”

 

Hermione concentrated on the feel of her limbs, her muscles; the hollow sensation in her stomach didn’t twist so hard.  It was as if she had just fed a light lunch to a starving body.  It was still hungry, but the pain of emptiness had lessened.  “Yeah, um a bit.”

 

“We can’t use magic, Hermione,” he replied, looking at the wand in her hand.

 

“But I thought that was the whole point of…”

 

“Parker said to avoid using it for a couple of days.  Just until your body adjusts.”  He took the wand and rested it on the opposite table.  “I’ll get a wash cloth for you.”  A moment later he returned and without even offering it to her, or asking her permission, ran it over the insides of her legs, but no higher.  His fingers gently cleaned the area, but not the sticky evidence of their bonding that still lingered on her lips.  

 

“Thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome,” he said, gazing at her first in wonder and then with a smile.

 

She felt so good, warm, comfortable, but she knew it couldn’t last.  He puffed out a satisfied exhale and carefully readjusted his now shrinking erection into his boxers.  

 

Suddenly, she realized her vision was improving - enough that she could see him even feet away.  She blinked a few times and looked around the room.

 

“What is it?” he asked.

 

“I think my vision’s coming back.”

 

He sat up, his eyes hopeful.  “That’s great, Hermione.”

 

She wasn’t sure, but the temperature in the room seemed to shift.  The warmth started to cool, the smile on his face becoming more contemplative.  Like Adam and Eve in the ancient garden, having eaten the apple, she suddenly felt exposed and embarrassed and reached down to tie the top of her gown.  Ron must have noticed the change, for he rolled off the bed and searched for his denims, slipping them on in silence.  

 

She adjusted her gown back down, even as her swollen lips tingled between her legs.  Within what felt like seconds, he was dressed, tying his last shoe and she was propped up on several pillows, the quilt folded neatly across her lap.  Why did she feel like she had to pretend this had never happened?  After staring lovingly into his eyes, after listening to him profess his love for her and returning it in kind, how could she feel so awkward?

 

He raked a hand through his hair, the other slipping into the safety of his pocket.  The tension in the room returned as he spoke.  “Well, I guess I’d better go and let you get some rest.”  There was silence.

 

“I guess,” she replied, feeling a bit sad and confused.  Was she supposed to somehow forget about this?  Would he?  Several silent seconds passed, both of them exchanging pleading looks and awkward glances.  “Thank you, Ron.”  It was an impulse, but felt appropriate, like it needed to be said.

 

Finally, pulling his hand free, he leaned in and kissed her forehead, his palm lovingly cradling her jaw.  “You’re welcome.  I know it’s not what you deserved for your first time, but I hope it helped you.”  He kissed her cheek and stared at her a moment, his eyes beginning to water up.  “I do love you, Hermione.”

 

As if unable to say anymore, he crossed the room in three quick strides, opened the door and left.  Hermione sat stunned.

 

*** 

 

Ron walked down the stairs, paused at the bottom.  His body felt electrified, mortified and fatigued all at the same time.  Harry and Ginny sat in the next room and he glanced that way, considering if he should tell them anything and yet wanting nothing but to lie down.  The decision was made for him when he heard the soft taps of shoes and Ginny rushed into the foyer.  Their eyes met, hers pleading for information, his pleading for solitude.

 

The familiar childhood connection still remained, each seemingly able to understand the other with just a look.  Ginny’s lips closed, the question no longer needed and she smiled dryly.  Ron rubbed his head and looked at her.  “It’s done.”  

 

Parker poked his head around the corner.  “Ron, I need a quick blood sample.”

 

“Fine.”  Ron stuck out his arm, stiff as a mannequin.  

 

“Do you feel alright?” the Healer asked as the vial filled, his medicinal eye roving over Ron’s form.

 

“I just want to get out of here.”  Parker worked quickly, said thanks and retreated back to the parlor.  Quickly, and without anymore discussion, Ron left the house and Apparated back to his apartment.  It wasn’t late, but he felt physically and emotionally wiped, tides of guilt, relief and restrained happiness tumbling over him.  The bed sunk to accept his weight, clothes and all.  Within seconds his mind went blank.

 

  _It was particularly hot.  The heat beat down on him and he squinted, shading his eyes as he glanced up at the_ _noon_ _day sun.  He couldn’t remember it ever being this hot before at the Burrow._

_His mother’s flower beds all withered, remnants of purples and marigold, pink and green hanging sadly from the vines.  Why hadn’t anyone watered the plants?  For a moment,_ _Ron_ _had the impulse to rush in the house and find his mother, but then he heard her calling to him from the kitchen window._

_At least, he thought he heard her, but there wasn’t any sound.  She waved, smiling, and her lips moved.  He even understood what she said, ‘aren’t you taking some flowers along?’ although he didn’t actually hear anything, only the crackle of the sun drying everything up.  She gestured toward the stone path that led from his backyard through the white gate and behind the large maple trees that shaded the Weasley family plots.  Fred._

_She must have wanted him to put flowers on Fred’s grave.  God, it was hot.  He wiped the sweat from his brow and quickly searched for some flowers that hadn’t completely died.  A few remained and he pinched them from their stems._

_Guilt pressed on him for he realized that he hadn’t been to his brother’s grave in months and his feet crunched against the pebbles in the path.  They glinted white and crystal reflecting the bright yellow beams from above.  His fist felt moist along the green stems in his hand and he glanced down at his palm.  It was sweaty and a bit swollen._ _Ron_ _stared in confusion at the strange welts on his hand.  Was he allergic to these flowers?_

_When he looked up, it was like a maze of family and friends had been installed on the path to guide him.  George peeked out from behind a holly bush and winked, pointing down the path.  A few steps later and Charlie lay stretched out on his side in the high grass, chewing on a blade of something.  He wanted to ask him what he was doing there, but his legs kept carrying him forward.  Rounding the curve, Ginny sat on a rock, crying and shaking her head._ _Ron_ _tried to walk toward her, but it was as if he were a gigantic slab of metal and a huge magnet waited for him at the end of the path.  The pebbles began to mix with grass, the path fading into lawn and he saw the neatly mowed patch of land._  

_Even stepping into the shade of the tree, his shirt stuck to him, soaked through.  Something in his peripheral vision caught his attention and he saw the once withered flowers, now a large, bright and full bouquet of the most beautiful pink roses he had ever seen.  They were huge, beyond normal expectations.  The fragrance made him teeter.  Stepping into the clearing, he looked for the white marker with Fred’s name, prepared to give his offering and say hello.  Instead, he saw two markers.  Fred’s white one and then another, a rose colored stone and a mound of dirt, still fresh at its base, not there long enough to have grown over with grass._  

_His heart panicked and he tried to remember who else had died.  Not his mother, he had just seen her.  Not George, or Charlie or Ginny.  Who?  Had someone not informed him?  Hesitantly, he walked the last few yards, bringing the stone into focus, his heart heavy with worry, expecting to find his father’s name or perhaps Percy or Bill.  His eyes didn’t want to focus at first and he knelt down, closer, the flowers still in his grip._

_Then the words began to form, as if being etched into the granite right in front of him._  

_Hermione Jean Weasley_   
_Beloved Wife_

_1979 -_  

_The final dated blurred and_ _Ron_ _rubbed his eyes, wondering why he couldn’t make it out.  Somehow he knew that final date was imperative.  He tried to rub it or feel the numbers with his fingertips.  Then a voice, familiar, very close.  He jerked._

_‘Wish I could have been at the wedding.’  Fred sat Indian style on the top of his grave.  His skin sagged, bluish, his eyes sunken, but otherwise, the same old Fred.   He winked._ _Ron_ _knew he should have felt frightened, freaked out, but it was as if his brother had just walked into his room for a chat.  Nothing felt out of the ordinary._

_‘_ _I don’t remember marrying her,’_ _Ron_ _replied, still squatting by her grave stone.  His heart weighed full with grief and he fell out of his crouch, the roses landing on the dirt and suddenly expanding to cover the entire grave.  His dream self was crying, weeping openly, but he seemed to be watching from above, a third party.  Fred was no longer there, only his sobs and the blazing heat.  Abruptly, a dirt covered fist burst through the ground below him, grabbing his forearm.  He cried out in terror and struggled to yank it back, but the grip was too firm.  Then her voice, clear as if she were speaking directly into his ear.  ‘Because you let me die!’_

“NO!” Ron bolted up in his bed, his pulse racing at an impossible speed.  Sweat dripped from his hair and he realized that his shirt was completely soaked.  The room spun, a combination of stifling heat and terrorizing memories.  Almost immediately, his body fell back against the mattress, but he arched in stinging pain.  His back.  It hurt, like a million bee stings all over him.  The mattress was far too painful to tolerate.  Then, as if the pain weren’t enough, his skin began to itch, to crawl.  He swung his arms around, flailing madly at his back, trying to wipe off what felt like thousands of spiders, biting, stinging.

 

Gripping the headboard for support, he tried to stand up, the room still swimming as he swatted at his back.  Ron was sure his brain was baking inside his skull, the heat was so overwhelming.  Blindly, mindlessly, he staggered across the room, his head knocking violently into the wall, then his shoulder scraping the plaster in the hall as he stumbled toward his Floo.  His brain fired recklessly, driving him forward in desperation, self-preservation and instinct now carrying him across the hearth.  His fingers groped for the powder on the ledge, knocking the jar to the floor as it shattered, scattering Floo powder all over the carpet.  

 

He fell to his knees and cupped what he could, the room blurring and tilting in response.  Releasing his grip, the powder fell and he cried out a name, the green flames sucking him through.

 

 


	19. Chapter 19 - Side Effects

  
Author's notes: To all my U.S. readers, Happy Independence Day!  I was off work for the holiday so I had time to get another chapter out for you.  Enjoy!  


* * *

 

Chapter 19 – Side Effects 

After spilling a whole boat load of bullshite to various officials, Harry managed to convince them that the alarm that morning had been an innocent accident.  Ron just stopped by to pick up some paperwork needed for work, not knowing that Hermione was in the house.  Auror Kreighton suffered a series of not too nice bruises from crashing into Harry’s locked Floo and Judge Randolph himself was livid at his inability to get through the wards.  The sincere apology Harry offered to both came with an enormous slice of satisfaction at knowing they couldn’t eclipse his security measures.  Kreighton did get an invitation for tea to make up for the humiliation. 

Mrs. Granger made an appearance shortly thereafter, commenting how Hermione looked a bit better and thanking Harry and Ginny for their care of her daughter. Hermione’s mum promised a return visit the next day now that she felt better.  The morose expression she arrived with, accompanied several statements of guilt about Hermione’s friends having to care for her daughter and the fact that she had been a bit freaked out over the incident at her house.  Now, however, the Grangers had recovered and were patching up the damage on the walls and the disquiet in their nerves.  Ginny got the impression she’d be seeing them much more in the future. 

The moment Ron had left and while Harry was busy fending off the attacks on the wards, Parker tested Hermione and sauntered down the steps with a pleasant grin on his face. 

“It worked.  At least partially.  Her numbers have gone way up.  It’s evident they really bonded well, but with Hermione’s count being as low as it was…well, she’s still not completely back, but she’s out of immediate danger.” 

Ginny and Harry exhaled a collective sigh of relief.   

Parker continued.  “She’s still technically borderline in the magical abilities department.  It will take a while for her body to adjust and get its strength back and then, hopefully, her cells will start to regenerate on their own.” 

A collective silence rang over the room as everyone absorbed the news.

“So, she doesn’t actually have her abilities back then?” 

“Maybe, but she shouldn’t try anything now.  Exposing her to magic of any kind could be dangerous right now, but give her time.”  Harry nodded.  “So, have you checked on Ron since he left?” Parker asked. 

“No, should I?” said Ginny.  “I know it was hard for him so I didn’t want to press him too much.” 

“I understand.  He’s probably very tired.  If you don’t hear from him within a couple of hours, it might be wise to check in on him.  Treat any side-effects with the typical potions, but no charms or spells.  His system was taxed just like hers.  He might have a headache or upset stomach, maybe a rash.  I trust you can take care of that.  I left a couple of large medical reference books in your library just in case.  I have to make a small trip to France today, but I’ll be back tomorrow.  He’ll probably sleep most of the day anyway.  I think it’s safe to go now that Hermione is out of the woods.” 

“Thank you, Healer Parker.  So much.”  Ginny hugged him and Harry offered a handshake. 

“Glad I could help.” 

Around lunchtime, Hermione actually came downstairs and joined Ginny in the kitchen for a sandwich.  Ginny tried to appear calm and casual, as if nothing in the world had changed.  But, behind the veil she was as giddy as a first year climbing aboard the Hogwart’s Express as she watched Hermione walk into the room.  Harry had gone in to work with the promise that he would stop by Ron’s flat around two and check on him.  The two ladies sat idly at the kitchen table, discussing how Ginny needed to make her required appearance at the Burrow that day, part of the whole ‘mum doesn’t know I’m living with Harry’ ruse.  Hermione’s hair still had that spooky Frankenstein’s wife look about it, but her cheeks had regained a pleasant pink flush and for the first time in days, she was eating without encouragement. 

Their peaceful chat came to a halt with the sudden whoosh-thud-crash in the other room.  Hermione’s reaction time still bordered on that of a slug, but Ginny bolted from the chair, wand drawn, adrenaline seemingly taking over where the lack of sleep had intruded. 

Hermione caught up a few seconds later, finding Ron collapsed full-out, face-down on the rug in front of the hearth, his hairline and the corner of the coffee table sporting matching blood stains. 

Ginny sat hunched over him.  “Oh, my god…Ron, what’s wrong?”  Her hand shook as she pulled out her wand, ready for the customary scan, but then realized her mistake and stared in horror at the sight before her. 

Despite feeling physically stronger, Hermione’s heart sunk rapidly anviling her stomach, and heading straight for the floor.   

“W-what’s wrong, Ginny?” 

But before Ginny could answer, Ron began mumbling, trying to lift himself up, one hand desperately clawing at the center of his back, but unable to reach.  “Hot…get it off me…get it OFF!”  His shoulder sunk back to the floor with a thud. 

Ginny dropped her wand at his side, wiggled the t-shirt loose from around his hips and pushed it up. 

Hermione gasped, a bony hand slipping over her mouth, the other clutching at the high-back chair for support.  A field of large red and white pustules dotted Ron’s back.  The angry welts began at the nape of his neck and spread the full width of his back, disappearing under the waist of his denims.  Almost every square inch of skin was affected. 

“Oh, dear god.  What’s that?”  Hermione sunk to her knees, not from any weakness, but the sheer shock of seeing her strong, beautiful Ron pinned to the floor with such pain. 

“I don’t know.”  She scrambled to her feet.  “Stay here with him, I’ll be right back.”  Ginny ran from the room, Hermione assumed toward the library off to the right. 

“Off me!” Ron screamed again, blood now trickling down his forehead and into the crease of his hard-pressed eyes.  He kept trying to lift himself off the ground, but continually thumped back to the rug, his huge frame obviously too much for his arms to handle.   

Hermione turned and crawled a few steps before getting to her feet and shuffling as quickly as she could into the kitchen.  She could hear Ginny in the next room rifling through books, groaning when she didn’t find the right one.  Finding several newly-laundered white dishtowels stacked on the counter, Hermione grabbed them, shoved one under the tap, rang it out and lumbered back with as much speed as her spindly legs would allow. 

Ron’s forehead now boasted a layer of sweat that would rival a road worker in Spain spreading tar on the hottest day of July.  The continued mumbles made no sense except to reiterate his ongoing pain.  “Hot…off…ugh.”  This time only a leg managed to escape the bounds of the rug and thump back at gravity’s urging. 

Hermione glanced again at the horrible welts on his back, but decided that with not knowing their cause, it was best she attend to his head first.  Wrapping the wet washcloth around her fingers, she gently dabbed at the gash in this hairline, earning a jerk of pain in return. 

“Sorry,” she paused, biting her lip in anguish.  Carefully, she wiped most of the blood from the corner of his eye and then folded and pressed the clean side of the cool washcloth to his forehead.  “Ron?  Can you hear me?” 

His warbled reply made her heart trill in happiness. “’Mione.”  It was the only thing he said, but she suddenly felt warm all over.  

“Ron, just be still.  Ginny’s going to help.” 

“Hot…” 

“Yes, I know.”  She yelled into the other room.  “Ginny, can you do a cooling spell or something on him.  He’s burning up!” 

“Just a minute.  I think I found something.”  Ginny ran back into the room, an overly large brown leather book in hand, the weight of which looked like it could topple her over.  She dropped it on the table, frantically scanning the page.  Hermione’s own curiosity couldn’t resist and she turned to read as well, her other hand still pressing the cloth to his forehead. 

“I think…um…I think we have to lance these.  Oh, god.  I’m not really sure, but…” 

“Isn’t there a charm or…” Hermione argued. 

“No!  Healer Parker said not to use any magic on him if he had side-effects from the transfer.” 

“Side-effects?  You mean…this is from me?”  The rosy pink that had resided in Hermione’s cheeks blurred to a pale cotton-candy. 

Ginny reached out a hesitant hand, clearly afraid of touching the enormous bubers on Ron’s back.  “He said there might be a rash.  A rash!  But this…um…”  She raised her wand, hand trembling slightly, about to lance the first rather large one on Ron’s shoulder blade. 

“Wait!”  Hermione cautioned.  “You said that the Healer said no magic.  Maybe you shouldn’t use your wand to lance these.” 

Ginny halted her movement, staring at Hermione in horror as if she had nearly made a huge blunder.  “Oh, my god!” she said dropping the wand.  “I can’t believe I almost did that.  Alright, so…we need a…um…knife…a…” 

Ron moaned and tried to reach his back again. 

“Scalpel.  You need Muggle surgical tools and it probably would be a good idea to have bandages and um…some alcohol or…” 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.  I’ll be right back.  Keep him calm.”  Once again, Ginny left the room, except this time it was with a rather loud crack which, in turn, caused Ron to twitch, his arm now flailing about, clutching at anything within range. 

Hermione found his hand and gripped it tightly.  “It’s alright Ron, you’re going to be fine.  Just stay calm, listen to my voice, everything will be fine.” 

“’Mione…” 

“Yes, it’s Hermione.  I’m right here.”  She peeked under the washcloth to examine the gash along his hairline. 

His fingers wriggled free of her hand and seemed to crawl up her leg, reaching around her waist as she knelt on the floor.  Even in this sickened state, he drew himself toward her, his head now resting on her legs.  “Better?” he stammered, teetering on coherence. 

“Yes, you’ll be better,” she said, running her fingers through his hair and flipping the washcloth over to a hopefully cooler side. 

“No…you better?” 

“Me?”  She stopped her strokes, dumbfounded at the fact his question was directed at her well-being.  “Yes, Ron.  I’m better.” 

“Good,” he warbled and squeezed his hand against the back of her waist. 

Another crack and Ginny reappeared, a small, red nylon-looking tote bag in her hand marked with a white cross.  Tossing it onto the table, she ripped the zipper open and dumped out the contents onto the table:  a small bottle of alcohol, individually wrapped gauze pads and bandages, ointments, tweezers, tape and a small metal basin among other things.  Then, carefully, she pulled out a plastic sheath and withdrew a very sharp looking, small steel knife.  She spun the top off the alcohol bottle and poured it, shakily, over the tip of the knife, the remains trickling into the basin. 

“A Muggle first aid kit?” 

“Yeah.  I kind of borrowed it.  You’ll have to hold him,” Ginny trembled.  “This may hurt.”  Hermione looked around trying to figure out where it would be best to touch him given the horrible condition of his back.  She pulled one leg out from underneath her and laid it on top of his left arm, her right hand dropping the washcloth and threading through his hair, pulling his head tight into her lap.  The other arm wrapped around the one clutching her waist and she nodded to Ginny, as ready as she could ever be. 

Biting her lip and pressing a piece of gauze to the side of one of the large cysts, Ginny blew out a calming breath and eased the razor-sharp knife through the center of the welt.  Two things happened at once: Ron screamed violently into Hermione’s lap and the tumor erupted, thick yellow-green and white puss spilling out of the slit. 

“Oh, god…” Ginny exclaimed, biting back the nausea that threatened her stomach.  “This is nasty!”  She gritted her teeth and gently pressed on the sides of the lump.  Beside a fair amount of puss, a tiny, worm-like invertebrate oozed forth. 

“Oh!” Hermione cried in disgust, holding his arms with all her strength as he continued to cry in pain.  “What is that?” 

“I don’t know.”  Ginny nearly dropped the scalpel into the basin and groped for the tweezers on the table.  As carefully as she could, she caught the wriggly slug and pulled, praying it wouldn’t break.  It slid free and Ron exhaled. 

Ginny stared at it with a combination of nausea and medical curiosity. “I need to keep this.  Study it.  Hold this.”  Hermione took the tweezers and Ginny got up and ran into her lab, bringing back a small vial with a rubber stopper on top.  She tossed the little worm into the vial and set it cautiously on the table. 

Hermione gagged and closed her eyes.   

“Just hold him, Hermione.  Keep your eyes closed if you have to.” 

A second later, Ron screamed again, his back arching with enormous strength and Hermione knew Ginny lanced a second one. 

“Ooo, I’m going to need a bigger jar.”  Glancing around, she spied a glass with about an inch of water on the nearby table, grabbed it and tossed in the worm, now floating limply and turning somewhat grayish.  Hermione’s stomach turned and she closed her eyes and pushed the vision aside, her concentration focused solely on Ron. 

A litany of loving support spilled from her lips, verbally caressing the crumpled form in her lap.  “Shhh, it’s alright, Ron.  Hold on sweetheart.  It’ll all be over soon.  Just hold on to me.  I’m right here.”  She kept stroking his hair and dabbing his forehead between lances.  His back began to look like someone had taken a whip to him, red slashes crossing him in every direction.  Each time Ginny went to pull another worm, she’d hold his arms and head as tightly as she could, but by the ten or twelfth one, he must have lost consciousness from the pain.  Suddenly, his body sunk against her, the fierce grip on her waist gone as his hand slipped lifeless to the floor. 

“Ron?” she spoke in his ear, still stroking his hair.  “Ron?  Ginny, he’s passed out.” 

“It’s probably best.  The pain was too much for him.” 

“But…” 

“Hermione, look at him, he’s breathing, his heart is beating.”  Ginny assured her dropping another worm into the now writhing jar and tossing a used piece of blood and ochre puss-covered gauze into the hearth.  She waved her wand after each lance, burning the soiled gauze pads in a flare of yellow flames.  

Reaching his waist, Ginny caught Hermione’s eye, relaying the fact that more may lie underneath his denims and there was no way they could turn him over to loosen his trousers.  Hermione pursed her lips, finally confirming what she knew Ginny was thinking.  “You’ll need to cut the denims off.” 

Obtaining a pair of scissors from the kitchen, she carefully cut through the heavy fabric, slitting the waistband and down several inches into the seat of the trousers.  Carefully, she pulled the denim back and lifted the elastic of his boxers.  Sure enough another large welt attached to the center of his tailbone. 

“Oh, bloody hell,” Ginny exclaimed.  “Please Merlin, tell me this is the last one.”  She lanced it as she had the others, Ron still out cold.  “Ugh, this one keeps bleeding.”  Ginny grabbed another piece of gauze and pressed it over Ron’s tailbone.  “Can you hold this?” 

Hermione wriggled from under Ron’s weight, gently setting his head on the floor.  Crawling to his side, she took over, applying pressure to the gauze. 

Ginny fell back on her bum, sweat-soaked hair clinging to her cheeks, her breath coming heavy.  Picking up the discarded scissors, she sliced up the legs of his denims, examining his skin for any more welts.  Glancing carefully under his legs and chest, it looked clear and she gulped, lighting the last piece of gauze on fire and finally running from the room.  A few seconds later, Hermione heard retching noises in the loo. 

Using her own basic first-aid knowledge, Hermione began ripping open more packages of clean gauze, laying them gently over the angry red cuts on his back and then carefully taping them down, trying to avoid any particularly red spots of skin.  

A crack sounded from the kitchen precisely three seconds before another lunch-launching gag resonated from the loo.  Hermione heard Harry’s concerned voice and quick footsteps moving toward the little first floor bathroom.  The voices mumbled in the distance and Hermione turned her attention back to the sleeping form on the floor.

 

His breath rolled easily in and out.  He looked so peaceful if you concentrated on his face only.  Wanting desperately to touch him, she had to accept the infeasibility and instead opted to lie down on the rug beside him, her face beside his.  She netted her fingers slowly through his and pulled their hands in to her chest.  Even with the gouge of missing flesh at his temple, he still was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.  Her mind flashed back to that morning, his gentle touches, the way he kissed her that left nothing but wet knickers and shivering thighs.

 

  _‘Look at me.’  He wanted to see me, wanted me to see him._

She could still picture the brilliant blue that watched her lovingly, studied her for pain, for arousal, for passion, such that she had never seen before.  She couldn’t help the whimper that escaped her lips as she recalled him pushing through her for the first time, the way his jaw tensed and then relaxed in utter bliss as he sunk fully into her.

 

“Hermione?”

 

Harry’s voice spoke right above her and she jerked, wondering if somehow he could read her erotic thoughts.  Rolling back, she stared at a concerned looking Harry.

 

“Are you alright?” he asked.

 

“I’m fine, but Ron…”

 

“Ginny told me.  I was just at his flat and the hearth was a mess, Floo powder everywhere, so I came here right off.  I think we should try to get him into a bed, don’t you?”

 

“But how?  We’re not supposed to levitate him or use any magic for now.”

 

“I’ll call Kreighton and Williams.  We can manage.”

 

“Shouldn’t we take him to the hospital?”

 

Harry turned and glanced at Ginny who shuffled in from the direction of the loo.  The look they exchanged showed clearly that this same question had already been raised and answered.

 

“Ginny would prefer to keep him here,” Harry replied with a resigned tone.

 

“Do you think that’s wise?”

 

“I think we need to trust her on this.”

 

Hermione nodded, contemplating why Ginny would want him in the house and released his hand a few minutes later, standing up and taking a step back to allow Harry and his associates to carefully lift Ron onto Kreighton’s shoulder, each one flanking him for support.  Minutes later, with Hermione following behind closely, the three grunting men carried Ron up the stairs and into the bedroom adjacent to Hermione’s.  She thanked them and they nodded to her and left, clearly avoiding her eyes.

 

“You should probably get some rest,” urged Harry who stood in the doorway of Ron’s room.  “It’s been a rough day for both of you.  Ginny is a little wiped herself at the moment, but I’m going to take her to the Burrow and get some healing potion for Ron’s back from Mrs. Weasley.  We’ll be back really soon.  I’ll raise the wards and lock the Floo.  If you need me, use the cell phone and I’ll be here in seconds.”  Harry patted the small holster on his belt and gestured toward the small navy blue flip phone lying on the dresser.

 

“At the Burrow?” she asked, surprised at the likelihood of Harry taking cell phone calls at the Weasley home.

 

“Yes, they put up a cell tower not too far away from Ottery St. Catchpole.”

 

“Um…alright.  I’ll call if anything comes up, but don’t be long.”

 

Hermione watched him go and although she knew it was probably wise for her to get some sleep, she couldn’t pull her eyes away from Ron’s tortured form.  Wandering to the bed, she picked up a book from a stack resting on the floor and flipped through it, scanning the back cover and then settling in on the edge of the bed to read.

 

She had only made it through chapter two when Ron began to shift, consciousness returning as he grimaced in pain.  Dropping the book with total disregard, she scooted up the mattress, placing a gently restraining hand on Ron’s arm.

 

“Don’t move.”

 

“What?  Where am I?” he asked, his cheek pressed into the pillow.

 

“You’re at Harry’s.  You need to lie still.”

 

He groaned.  “Something burns.”

 

“Yes, you had these cysts all over your back.  We couldn’t use magic to heal them, we had to lance them.”

 

“Not my back.”

 

Hermione frowned, glancing over Ron’s sides and arms and then wondering if there were more on his legs that they hadn’t noticed.  “Where does it burn?”

 

Ron did not reply, but she thought he made a rather sickening sound as he swallowed.  “Ron?  Where does it burn?”  She continued looking over him, lifting the barely attached denim again.  Looking at his face, wondering why he wasn’t replying, she saw a very wide-eyed, pale stroke of panic, his pupils contracted to pinpoints.  “Ron?”  Suddenly she realized the only place they hadn’t looked.  “Oh!  Oh, no…not there!”

 

Another grunt of pain slipped from Ron’s lips.  “Yes, there,” he seethed through his teeth.  “Please, make it stop.”

 

“Ron, I can’t…not there…”

 

“Please!” he cried louder, the pain clearly affecting him, his teeth now biting into the pillow, fist wrapped around the edge of the mattress.

 

“I’ll call Harry and Gin…” she walked toward the waiting phone.

 

“No!” he cut her off.

 

“But Ron, Ginny’s a trained…”

 

“You can fix it.  I don’t want Ginny to see.”  Hermione glanced at the phone and back, Ron’s eyes pleading with her to help him.

 

“Alright, just stay here.  I’ll be right back.”  Hermione made her way down the steps with as much speed as possible, grabbing the alcohol, the basin with scalpel still resting inside, three gauze pads, scissors and the tweezers.  Just climbing the stairs weakened her, but the adrenaline that coursed through her system made up for loss of energy.

 

When she got back to his bedroom, Ron was writhing, clawing at the bedframe, growling like a wounded animal.  “Make it stop!”

 

“Alright, alright.  Be still.”  Hermione dropped the supplies onto the bedside table.

 

“I can’t.  It burns.  Please!”

 

Grabbing the scissors, she carefully cut through the remaining section of denim that kept the trousers on his hips.  Next she scissored through his navy boxers, revealing a very tight, muscular arse dusted in freckles and soft ginger hair at the apex of his thighs.

 

“Argh!” he cried again, pulling his body forward and rather automatically lifting his leg up and away from the pressure and pain centered at the most intimate spot of his manhood.

 

Hermione made a loud sucking noise finally seeing the cause of his agony.  A very large welt covered the entire back of his testicles.  “Oh, god, Ron.  It’s right on your…it’s right there.  I can’t cut that. What if I slip?  If you want children…oh, no, no no…I can’t do this.”

 

“Hermione, please make it stop.  You have to do this,” he pleaded through clenched teeth.

 

“I should get Ginny or your mum…”  
  


“No!  I’m not going to let Ginny see this and certainly not my mother!  Only you.”

 

“Ron, I’m not trained…”

 

His arm reached around, gripping her wrist firmly.  “Hermione, I trust you, please.  I beg you.  Make it stop!”

 

She nodded, licking her lips and looking back at the enormous tumor.  “Hold on to something.”  She poured more alcohol over the knife, ripped open a gauze pad and held it to the side of his inner thigh.  Ron gripped the sides of the bed.  “Ready?”

 

He nodded, his face buried in the pillow.  Recalling how Ginny had done the others, she held the knife between her thumb and middle finger, her index finger pressing cautiously, but tremulously on the top as it broke the skin.  Ron roared in pain, the entire bed vibrating as he struggled to keep from throwing her off of him.  She sliced for about three quarters of an inch, the contents oozing forth easily now that nothing held it back.  

 

Dropping the scalpel into the basin, she grabbed the tweezers and then carefully pressed on the sides with the gauze.  Ron’s screams had stopped, but the bed vibrated as his white knuckles bent the mattress edges to the ceiling.  The familiar white worm slipped up from the slot and Hermione pinched it and tugged carefully.  A second later, it slipped free and Ron’s body relaxed, his head turning to gasp in a large breath as he panted rapidly.

 

She ran to the bathroom and flushed the nauseating creature down the toilet.  Rushing back, she bothered a quick glance at Ron’s face, his eyes watering furiously, pinched tightly on his face.  As gently as possible, she cleaned up the rest of the puss, covered it in a clean gauze pad and taped the edges, finally slipping off the edge of the bed to sit on the floor and rest her back on the box spring.

 

Moments later, Ron’s large palm landed on her head.  At first she thought he was making some kind of thankful gesture, but then noticed the laxness in his arm and turned to find him out cold once again.

 

Hermione found a sheet and covered him gently, finally shuffling to the adjacent room and crawling into her own bed minutes later.  She wasn’t sure how much time elapsed, but the weight of a gentle hand on her shoulder brought her back a while later.

 

  _“Hmm?” she jarred, drawing in a deep breath._

_“I’m sorry to wake you, Hermione.”  It was Harry’s voice._

_“Harry?  What’s wrong?”_

_“Nothing, just wondering if you need another good fuck.  I’ve got lots of magic.  I’ll be glad to blow a load in you if you want.”_

_“What?”_   

Hermione bolted awake, her heart beating a million miles an hour, muffled shouts coming from the room next door as she felt the mattress shift and a hand rest on her back.  

 

“Hermione?”

 

“No!” she jerked away.

 

“Whoa!  It’s just me.  Relax.”  Harry held up a hand in defense, his eyes soft and concerned.

 

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, still remembering her dream and yet realizing the absurdity of it.

 

“Sorry I woke you.  It’s just that Ginny could use your help.”

 

“Me?” Hermione asked, her eyes now open and searching Harry’s for a clue, however, the muffled shouts coming from the next room alerted her to trouble.

 

“Her mum brewed this potion to put on Ron’s back and then, of course, insisted on coming over when she heard about him.  Ron’s going a bit berserk, demanding that his mother and sister stay away from him.  He’s asking for you.”

 

“Oh.”  Hermione began to understand why and pulled back the blanket as Harry stood up from the side of the bed.

 

“Um, before you go…” Harry touched her arm.

 

“Yes?”

 

“I just wanted to tell you how happy I am to see you doing better.  I know it was hard for you and if you need to talk or anything…”

 

“Thanks, Harry.”  She wrapped her arms around him, giving a brief squeeze before another loud ‘Absolutely not!’ roared from the next room.

 

She tucked the hair around her ear and walked into the neighboring bedroom, the voices now much clearer and certainly more frantic.

 

“Ronald, you could get an infection, besides I’ve seen you naked thousands of times!  Do you know how many times I had to change your nappies?”  Molly argued holding up two fingers already slathered in some kind of thick white salve.

 

“I don’t fuckin’ care.  You are not going to rub that stuff on me.”  Ron looked like a cornered coyote, his back as close to the wall as possible without actually touching it, clutching a sheet over his nether regions.

 

“Ronald Bilius Weasley, you will not use that language with me, young man!”  Molly bellowed, but Ron’s eyes lit up at seeing Hermione. 

 

“Hermione, tell them to get out.”

 

Molly’s furious glare at her son softened to motherly affection toward her near daughter.  “Oh, Hermione dear.  It’s so good to see you up and about.  Ginny said the Healer tried some new procedure and it helped.  I’m just so glad!”  Molly’s expression belied her innocent reply and Hermione wondered if she knew more than she was letting on.  As expected, Molly looked like she was about to hug her, but realized the appearance of two sticky fingers on her right hand and stopped.

 

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.  Um…I think…” she looked to Ron for verification  “…if you leave the potion with me, I’ll be able to put it on Ron’s back.”  He nodded in complete agreement.

 

“But you’ve been sick.  You need to rest.”

 

“I’m fine now.  Please.  Ginny, Harry, Mrs. Weasley.  All of you have to leave or Ron’s never going to get any rest.”  Hermione took the tub of salve out of Molly’s hand and offered a reassuring smile, nudging her toward the door.  Harry stepped to the side, totally accepting of Hermione’s suggestion, but Ginny and Molly offered suspicious frowns as she herded them through the door.

 

Harry was the last one out and Hermione whispered, “lock the door until I come out.”  

 

“Alright, but you stay back,” Harry nodded.  “Parker said to keep you away from magic for now.”

 

Hermione nodded and stepped away from the door, a moment later she heard the whoosh of the spell and Mrs. Weasley’s complaints about not being able to get to her son in the case of emergency.

 

Hermione turned back finding Ron now slouched on the bed, completely naked, the sheet draped over his lap.  Eyes closed, his chin rested on his chest.  “What the hell happened?  I feel like I’ve taken a hundred Sectumsempra spells.  I can barely move without screaming.”

 

Hermione spoke from her current spot, slightly afraid to approach him in such an agitated state. “You had a reaction to…to…us, or rather to me, I guess.  I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry, Ron.  I never meant for this to happen to you.”  

 

Ron grunted and tried to lay down, rolling to his side, but then sucked in a painful breath, flipped back to his stomach and reactively pulled his leg up and away from what Hermione figured was one of the more sensitive locations.  “Shite, that hurts!”

 

Hermione stood immobile for a second, flustered and guilty at the sight before her.

 

“So, are you going to try that potion?” he asked with eyes closed.

 

  _I can do this.  It’s just like putting on sunscreen at the beach._

She carried over the jar, holding it up to her nose for a quick wiff and then settled carefully beside him on the bed, acutely aware of the location of the sheet and the fact he was wearing nothing but his birthday suit.

 

Dipping two fingers into the salve, she rubbed it on her thumb for a moment, just getting the feel of it and then eyed his back, trying to decide where to start.  Opting for the top of his shoulder, she carefully ripped the tape from the gauze pad and dabbed the tiniest amount over the angry incision, waiting for a reaction from him.  If this stung or hurt, she certainly didn’t want to slather on a whole handful.

 

When he didn’t respond, she moved lower, removing another bandage and coating one of the incision marks entirely with a thin layer of the cream.

 

“Ahh, that feels good.  It’s so cool.”  Ron moaned.

 

“Good.”  Now she felt more assured and began to pull off more bandages and rub more liberal amounts on his back.  His comments continued about the relaxing, cool sensation and Hermione noticed after several minutes that the red marks at the top of his back had lessened dramatically.  They now looked like day old scabs, still red and visible, but not fresh and raw.

 

Soon both of her hands were invested in the task, rubbing more of it on his back and she stopped at the edge of the sheet, contemplating the one on his tailbone.  “Um…one more, but I have to move the sheet down, alright?”

 

“Mmmm, fine.”  Ron appeared relaxed beyond all measure and Hermione carefully lifted the sheet, exposing his very fine arse once again.  Dipping her fingers back into the salve, she stroked them over the site of the welt on his tailbone and waited, hoping to see the swelling retreat.

 

“Enjoying the view are we?” he asked with just the slightest humor in his tone.  It was something she hadn’t heard in so long and she couldn’t help the tickle in her stomach.

 

  _Is he flirting with me?_

Hermione didn’t mean to get defensive, but was so flustered at the naked flesh before her, it just slipped out.  “I’ll have you know, I am not doing this just to get a glance at your bare arse.  This is purely medicinal.”  Quite suddenly she felt ashamed.  “However…” she glanced at him to find him grinning and couldn’t resist the comeback “…you do have a very fine arse.”

He smiled more widely into the pillow, opening one eye to check her expression.  “So do you.”

 

Hermione blushed far past the boundaries of mere modesty, recalling her complete exposure to his eyes that morning.  Gripping the sheet with the intent of pulling it back up, she froze as Ron suddenly shifted, turning over, still with a grimace, but better than before.  She dropped the sheet reactively, her eyes unabashedly locked onto his chest.

 

With a dip of his head, and realizing she had just been caught gaping at him, her focus lifted back to his face.

 

“That’s not fair,” he chided.

 

“What?”

 

“You get to see me naked, but I don’t get to see you.”  

 

This time the mere blush wasn’t enough and she had to look away in embarrassment, her lips moving, but no sounds coming out.  His words expressed flirtatious banter, but his expression remained intense.  The silence didn’t last for long as Ron’s fingertips caressed her cheek.  “Don’t be embarrassed, Hermione.  You were beautiful.”  He dropped his hand.

 

She still tried to refrain from looking directly at him, knowing that her bones would turn to complete mush the moment she did.  “Then you must be worse off than me if you’re that blind.  My hair is gray and I’m nothing but skin and bones…”  

 

“You’re still beautiful.”  His hand slipped into her hair with the intimacy of an old married man who’d done it a million times before.  “Yes, I love your long wavy brown hair, gray included… the way it looks a complete mess and yet suits you so well.”  His hand slipped to her jaw, one finger grazing down her collarbone to her sternum, drawing Hermione’s gaze along with it.  “And yes, you may be a bit thinner, but that isn’t what makes you beautiful.”  He paused, gazing at her, his eyes crinkling up at the sides ever so slightly as his palm pressed against her chest, covering her heart.  They sat there, still, jointly listening to her heart beating against his warm palm for several long moments.

 

Hermione had this overwhelming urge to flee and hug him at the same time.  Fleeing took over, only because she knew hugging him would result in pain.  With several determined steps, she found herself at the window.  Staring out at nothing in particular, she trying to get her emotions under control, afraid that looking at him would reveal too much.

 

“Are you angry with me?” he asked from across the room.

 

“Angry?” she turned, confused.  Ron immediately avoided her eyes.

 

“I know I took something from you today and you have every right to feel robbed.”

 

“Ron…” she walked toward him, starting to refute his statement.  “I’m not angry, I’m just…” she paused, struggling to explain the storm of emotions that had ripped through her that morning.   

 

“Disappointed?”  

 

“What?” she sat on the edge of the bed.  “No…I…”

 

When he spoke again, it was soft, nearly a whisper and he leaned closer, his hand twining with hers.  

 

“Hermione, I would have given anything, gone through any pain, offered my life itself to keep you alive.  So, don’t feel bad about this,” he gestured to his back.  “I did this knowing there could be consequences and it’s alright.  I’ve missed seeing you everyday.”  Her eyes turned up to his words in surprise.  

 

How had their conversation jumped from bonding and sex to love and relationships?  

 

He squinted with remorse.  “What if…what if we tried again?  Could you do that?” his eyes implored.  “If I promised never to be apart from you again, would you take me back?”

 

Her heart screamed out ‘yes’ but the logical, thoughtful side of her could only hear Diane’s words from the hospital that day.  “I thought…” his forehead tipped against hers and she had to stop and breathe before continuing.  “I thought you were getting married.”

 

Ron tilted his head, the tip of his nose slipping beside hers.  “I hope to someday.  I always wanted a few brown-eyed children with wavy hair and research capabilities that would rival Dumbledore himself.”

 

“But, I…” But their lips touched, silencing anything else she might have to say.  His kiss was slow and soft, not urgent, not pressing for more.  Hermione didn’t even bother to consider that fact that in his current condition, he wouldn’t be in that frisky of a mood.  Her thoughts were completely swallowed up with images of their warm, naked bodies joined together, rocking in rhythm.

 

A loud knock on the door rattled them apart.  “Did he pass out, Hermione?”  Molly’s concerned tone broke their embrace as if she were standing directly above them.  “I can’t hear him anymore.  Is he alright?”

 

Their eyes both flew wide with the suggestion his mother may have been listening at the door this entire time.  They both reacted, each in his own way.  Hermione pulled out Harry’s cell phone, dialed and asked him if he knew Molly was standing at the door.  Ron opted to just shout at his mother in typical style.

 

“Mum!  I’m fine and it’s embarrassing to have you stand and listen at the door!”

 

Suddenly they heard Ginny’s voice from down the stairs.  “Mother!  I made tea, now come down here and give them some time.”

 

This time Hermione shuffled to the door, pressed her ear to the panel and finally walked back, picking up the tub and preparing to screw on the lid.

 

“Wait a second.  You didn’t finish.”

 

“What?  Yes, I…” and then she realized her mistake.  “Oh, no…you don’t want me to put it down there.”  She appeared a bit bewildered and Ron quickly pulled out the puppy dog eyes.  

 

“Please?  It really hurts and no one else can do it.”

 

“I’m sure you mother would be…”

 

“Don’t even suggest it,” he yawned.

 

“I was just saying…” she teased, finally unscrewing the lid.  

 

Ron tossed the sheet back with the abandon of a nude model in a sculpture class who couldn’t wait for the sighs of admiration.  And, truly, Hermione did inhale a bit deeper than usual.  How could she not?  His muscular frame, broad shoulders, slim hips and currently protruding package would have most older women fainting in the aisles.  If it weren’t for the fact that he made that sucking noise through his teeth when he shifted on the bed, she would have just tossed the salve and pounced on him right there.

 

“Sore, huh?”  

 

“I should be asking you that.”

 

Hermione blushed rapidly, the embarrassment back in full force.

 

“I’m fine.”  Coating her fingertips with more of the potion, she shook her head in disbelief.  “I still can’t believe you did this for me.”

 

He shifted down onto his side, still wincing as he lifted one leg back to reveal the irritated skin.  “It was worth it.”  Considering his condition, it was odd to hear mirth in his voice.

 

  _He’s enjoying this!  He’s trying to guilt me into some sexual thrill for him._

Ron was trying to appear serious and yet she could see the anticipation in his face, the typical male desires surfacing with a grin.  He made no effort to move, just waiting for her to touch the package.  She almost expected him to wag his eyebrows at her, but he must have had enough common sense to realize that wasn’t a good idea.

Hermione sat with two coated fingers and ground her teeth at the absurdity of his assumption.  She wanted to be angry and tried to sound that way.  “Oh, no, you can hold things while I apply.  This is not Hermione’s hand job palace.”  But she had to hide her own smile.

 

Ron slipped a hand over his partially erect penis and lifted it back, another groan of pain escaping his lips.  Gingerly, she smoothed a layer of the sticky salve over his balls and he almost immediately cooed with relief.  “Oh, that’s _so_ much better.  Thank you.”  He yawned again.

 

“You’re welcome,” she gulped, staring at the goods like a kid in the candy shop.

 

With a rather obvious clearing of the throat, Ron got Hermione to look away again.  “I kind of need some clothes.  Looks like my denims are not suitable for public attire anymore.”

 

Pulling the sheet back over his lap, she turned away, anxious to leave the room.  She was beginning to fear that she might throw up from all of the emotions twitting about in her mid-section.  “I’ll have Harry get you something to wear.  You sound tired.  Are you hungry?  I think Ginny was baking chicken tonight.  I don’t know about you, but I’m famished.”

 

Ron’s eyes drooped, one shoulder slipping down to the mattress.  With another groan of pain, he rolled onto his stomach again.  “Food sounds good.  I think I’ll just catch a quick nap first.”

 

“I’ll bring you something.”  

 

“Will you think about it?” he asked in a mumble, his eyes slipping shut.  She knew what he meant.

 

“Yes, I’ll think about it.”

 

“Good,” he whispered, yawned and was out.  She pulled the blanket back over him and walked to the door, only then realizing it was locked magically.  With an exasperated sigh, she flipped the phone open and hit redial.  “Harry, the door?”  He replied with a quick ‘Sorry’ and a minute later, the door unlocked.

 

With Harry ahead of her on the staircase, she managed the first few steps before realizing the obvious.

 

  _I think I’ve overdone it a bit today._

Having a new lease on life makes you want to jump for joy and participate in everything at once, but Hermione was now finding that Ron’s one attempt at curing her hadn’t completely worked.  The legs that for most of the day had felt solid, now wavered with the consistency of tapioca and she gripped the railing, calling to the man below.

“Harry…I…”  she slipped, her arse landing squarely on the sixth step.  Harry dashed back up, the twelve day look of concern back in full force.  “I think I need to rest.”

 

“Bedroom?” he asked, trying to decide if he would be helping her up or down.

 

“I’m so hungry.”

 

“I can bring up a tray.”

 

“No.  I’m sick of being in bed.”

 

“Kitchen then,” he nodded, slipping an arm around her waist and helping her down the remaining steps.  Mrs. Weasley apparently refused to leave until getting word of her baby boy.  Hermione tried to look strong even as Harry kept a hand on her elbow until she sat.

 

“He’s much better, sleeping now.  Said he was hungry.  I told him I’d bring him something up later.  Here’s the potion.  It worked great.  He looks much improved.”  Mrs. Weasley pushed it back.  “You keep it.  Apply another coat tomorrow and it should prevent scars.”  Hermione nodded, giving Ginny her cue.

 

“Well, mum, I guess you should be going.  Dad will be home soon.”

 

“Oh, yes, I have to get dinner ready.  Should I take him a plate?”  Molly asked.

 

“No!” Hermione exclaimed, picturing her overly exposed savior.  “He’s probably dead asleep.  I’ll take him something in a bit.”

 

“I’ll come back to check on Ronald tomorrow.  You Floo call if you need anything and don’t stay here too late,” she directed to Ginny.  “You don’t want to wear out your welcome.”

 

“Yes, mum.”  Ginny smiled, the halo glowing over her head, balanced on the prongs of the horns.

 

Everyone let out a relief-filled breath the minute she Apparated away.  Ginny returned to the kitchen, the lovely aroma of chicken wafting into the room.  At least her appetite remained, despite the resurgence of weakness in her limbs.

 

“Harry…after dinner, can you go back to Ron’s flat and get him some clothes?  We kind of had to cut everything off before.  Oh…” Ginny exclaimed, her expression indicating she had almost forgotten something important “…and one more thing.  Could you drop this off with Miranda at St. Mungo’s?”  Ginny pulled out the tiny vial that held the single worm she had collected that morning.  “Even though the lab is closed, she thinks they might be able to run some tests on the sly.”

 

Ginny slipped a plate in front of her that smelled heavenly.

 

“Sure.  I have to run out anyway, looks like we have reports of Carrow wreaking havoc in the city.  I suspect he’s contacted some friends because we had a series of petty dark crimes happening all over today.  Alarms going off constantly in the office.”

 

“Speaking of…I haven’t seen any army of Aurors showing up today,” said Hermione.

 

“No, I finally got them to drop the portion of the restraining order that pertains to you, Hermione.  Ron still has to stay away from John.”

 

“I think we all need to stay away from John.”  Ginny added.

 

“You need to just stay here and you should be safe.  The wards took a good hit today, but they held.  I’m surprised they didn’t punch a hole in it anywhere.  I’ll have to compliment the blokes at the office.  They did a pretty damn good job trying to get through.”

 

“Why would you compliment the men trying to break into your home?”

 

“They were just following orders, Hermione.  It’s what we taught them.  I can’t really fault them for it.”

 

Hermione ate better than she had in weeks, but her energy level still dissipated as the hour lapsed.  “Ginny, I think we should call Healer Parker.  I’m starting to feel really drained again.  Did something not take?”  Hermione frowned, her head now resting in her hand.  “I mean…I haven’t even tried any magic, but…”

 

“And you shouldn’t.  Don’t tax your system with attempting magic, not yet.  Parker said to wait.  You’ve been in bed for weeks, you’re thin, you haven’t been eating, it’s no wonder you’re weak.  However, I do think we should call about Ron, but Parker said he’d be in France today so we’ll have to wait until he gets back.”

 

*** 

 

Finishing dinner, Harry helped Ginny clear the dishes, kissed her on the cheek and promised he’d be back soon.  Hermione managed to drag herself into the library, hoping to at least read a bit before bed.  About an hour later, Ginny had checked on Ron to find him snoring up a storm, Hermione was passed out in the big cushy reading chair in the library and Ginny occupied herself at the dining table, writing out the notes from her research.

 

Several sheets of parchment included the various levels of different cells in Ron’s blood, a puzzle that together indicated the strength of the virus in Ron’s system.  Similar reports from several other patients had been forwarded to Ginny’s office, plus the results of two autopsies on the virus victims in Prague and finally an unrelated document on Ron and Hermione’s nuclidite count from Healer Parker, taken right after the bonding. 

It was a certainty that Ron had contracted the virus in Prague the night he searched the lab, his tests confirmed it with a variance in cells the next day.  With the usual three to five day incubation period, Ginny scanned forward, looking for a dramatic spike from Ron’s levels that day, but instead it dropped off. 

She pulled out the sheet and looked again, confused as to why this didn’t match the pattern.  The other victims of the virus had large increases after the incubation period, but not Ron.  Attached to the autopsy report on the victim in Belgium was a medium manilla envelope marked ‘Exhibit B’ and Ginny frowned, unbending the clasps.  Tilting it open, out fell several photos, rather gruesome close ups of the victim’s in the final stages of the disease and then one of a live patient.  Ginny’s eye caught a glance at something familiar.  It was white and looked very much like a small slug or…  “A worm!” 

Flipping through the other photos, she discovered another angle of the same body and squinted as she turned the photo, recognizing the same kind of bubers that had appeared on Ron’s back that morning.  She flipped the photo over and read the notes on the back.  “Michael Dubreaux – Day Seven.”  She shuffled through the paperwork of the patient records and found Mr. Debreaux.  He had lived!  If these tumors were present on the man’s body, that would mean that Ron was not having a reaction to the bonding, he was reacting to the virus. 

_But why did the two of them get this and no one else?_  

Ginny stared at the photos over and over, reading and re-reading the reports, but could find no pattern.  Finally, after some time had passed she tossed them to the side and decided to get a cup of tea and try to wake up a bit.  And that was when it happened.  Her focus drifted to the report of Hermione and Ron’s nuclidite counts.  Hermione had a long list as her’s had been tested repeatedly: 

Friday, June 16, 2000 – 32

Saturday, June 17, 2000 – 31

Sunday, June 18, 2000 – 31

Monday, June 19, 2000 – 28

Tuesday, June 20, 2000 – 28

Wednesday, June 21, 2000 – 27

Friday, June 22, 2000 – 27

Sunday, June 24, 2000 – 25

Tuesday, June 26, 2000 – 455 

“Wow,” she mumbled quietly looking at the large jump after the bonding.  Then she glanced at Ron’s numbers.  Just two. 

Monday, June 25, 2000 – 1286

Tuesday, June 26, 2000 –  714 

He’d experienced a dramatic drop.  No wonder Healer Parker insisted on a pure-blood.  And Ron seemed a particularly strong pure-blood.  The legend on the document indicated that normal range for a pure-blood fell between nine hundred and twelve hundred. 

“I wonder what the nuclidite counts were for the other victims?”  Completely forgetting the tea, Ginny jumped up and grabbed several sheets of parchment and a quill.  Tingling with curious excitement and hope, she scribbled out several requests to obtain nuclidite counts from the victims of the virus and sent them off with her owl.  If a correlation did indeed exist, this could be a huge breakthrough.  Carefully, she stuffed the documents back into the envelopes, put them on the sideboard, yawned and began to shuffle in to check on Hermione.  

A soft click attracted Ginny’s attention, like a door latch releasing and she got up to investigate.  What she heard stopped her in her tracks.

 

“Are you sure this is Potter’s place?”  Whoever spoke sounded like he had a mouth full of cottonballs.

 

“Yeah, I’m sure.”  Ginny moved closer, trying to hear their whispered conversation.

 

“What if he’s here?  I don’t want to get cursed.”

 

“Just call me.  My friends assured me that your little pet is here somewhere, too.  Look upstairs, but be careful.  Other wizards could be here as well.”

 

Ginny didn’t know the voices, but knew it wasn’t Harry or any of her family.  If her suspicions were correct, she needed to get Hermione out and fast.  It struck her with sickening guilt that she had never locked the front door.  They had been so dependent on the wards and the fact that anyone wanting to gain entrance would try to either Floo or Apparate, no one bothered to consider the simplest, Muggle method of entry.  Ginny realized with a quickening heart that her wand rested on the table.  She ran back, snatched it up and pushed her spine into the corner separating the dining room and foyer walls.  For a second, she considered making a stand, explaining the virtues of knocking first by way of a nice bat-bogey hex, but there was a strong possibility that this intruder was a wizard.  With her luck, a dark wizard with a chip on his shoulder named ‘Harry Potter.’  Besides, it wouldn’t be prudent to take on this unknown darky with an incapacitated Hermione in the next room and her whipped brother asleep upstairs.  Could she Apparate out and find Harry?  No, she couldn’t leave them.  This time she’d have to be the one that jumped in the game of chicken.

 

Footsteps padded into the neighboring kitchen.  Doors opened and closed.  Ginny took the opportunity to tip toe through the dining room and make a dash for the library.  She had to wake Hermione and get her out.  Then she’d Apparate upstairs and wake Ron.

 

Skirting over the library threshold, she hid behind the bookcase, glancing at Hermione’s curled up form and listening for the footsteps which had now moved into the downstairs loo.  As quietly and quickly as possible, she ran to Hermione’s side, nudged her with frantic whispers.  “Hermione!  Wake Up!  Wake Up!!”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Shhh, someone’s in the house.  You need to get out.”

 

Hermione’s eye grew disproportionately wide and she tried to get out of the chair, but it was like watching a turtle in a glue factory.  Her attempts to move consisted of straining her head forward and finally gliding off the edge of the chair onto the floor.

 

“Hermione!”

 

“I…I can’t.”

 

“Stay in here.  Keep your head down.”  Ginny ran back to the doorway, but heard footsteps nearby and tried to slowly pull the pocket doors closed.  If she could Imperturb the doors, that would probably provide a bit of safety and then she could take a minute to think about how to get help.

 

The heavy wood slid on its track quietly, but not with the kind of speed required and as the two halves neared each other a burst of white light shot through the center and sent Ginny flying backward onto the hardwood, her wand rattling and rolling over the floor toward the windowsill.

 

“Found her!” a voice yelled from the other side of the doors.  Two hands and one wand slipped around the edge of the doors and they rolled open, a wiry bloke with black hair smirking in satisfaction at his handiwork.  Ginny’s nerve endings were bouncing around like a pinball machine on tilt, but she tried to get her footing.

 

“Ah, ah, ah…I’d stay down if I were you.  Hmmm.  Red hair.  I don’t suppose you’re one of those Weasleys are you?”  He began a slow saunter toward Ginny, twirling his wand between two fingers.

 

“No,” John interrupted from the doorway, speaking through his teeth.  “Her name is Julie.  I met her in the hospital.  I think she’s a visiting nurse.”  Ginny’s eyes darted to John, recognizing the lie he just spoke.  At any other time, she’d have frowned and taken several minutes to debate the reason for this unnatural kindness, but fear had her face plastered with one expression.

 

“Really?” the black-haired man asked, his eyebrows raised with curiosity.  “I could swear she’s a Weasley.  So…” he walked closer “…Julie, where’s your patient?”

 

But John had already scanned the room and found Hermione on the floor.  “She’s right here.”

 

“Leave her alone!” Ginny yelled and tried to move, but found herself at wandpoint and froze.

 

“Julie, Julie, Julie…I’m sorry, but we have a little unfinished business with your patient here.”

 

John stood over Hermione, far enough away that she couldn’t kick him, but close enough to put his claim on her.  For her part, Hermione appeared like a terrified slug, frozen in either fear or weakness, possibly both.

 

“Are you a witch, Julie?” The man asked, studying her with a slightly curled lip.

 

Ginny didn’t answer for she knew that either could put her in more danger.  This seemed to intrigue the man even more.  He flicked his wand and Ginny slumped against the ottoman behind her.  Every command her brain issued to her muscles went unheeded, she couldn’t move, the only things working: her heart, lungs and eyes.

 

The man knelt down in front of Ginny, his wand tip lifting the hair off of her shoulder.  “You’re a pretty little thing.”  Apparently the paralysis didn’t extend to the tiny hairs on her arms which now stood straight up.  

 

He trailed his wand tip with the intimacy of a finger, tracing over her neck, and down her sternum.  “You know, I’m a fun bloke.  Maybe we should um…hang out for a while.  You and me.”  Cocking his head, the smooth wood dropped lower slipping over the denim of her crotch.  “Tell me Julie…are you a _real_ redhead?”

 

John interrupted, seething through his closed jaw.  “Arty, I think we need to get going.  Harry might come home.”

 

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he answered, but never took his eyes off Ginny.

 

“But…you promised to help me get Hermione back.”

 

“I will, I will.  Don’t worry.”  He stood up, leaving a petrified Ginny and hovered over the chair, glancing down at Hermione.  “So, Ms. Granger, we meet again.  I am so looking forward to us spending a little more quality time together.”  Ginny wiggled a toe.

 

Hermione seemed even more terrified of the man than she was.  John’s expression had changed from the last time Ginny saw him.  She wasn’t positive, but it looked like John wasn’t too sure about his cousin.  Then again, his nervous appearance could be attributed to his recent breaking and entering and the apparent kidnapping he was about to perform – for the second time.

 

“John, what are you doing?” Hermione finally spoke, probably hoping she might be able to persuade him to let her be.  

 

“Why, he’s taking you back to where you belong.”  Arty interrupted.  “You see, this is a wizard home.  Mudbloods don’t belong here.”  A muscle twitched in Ginny’s thigh.

 

“Arty, please, we need to go.”  John urged, his eyes wide and panicked.

 

“Alright.”  He waved his wand and a set of invisible ropes wound around Hermione, her arms pressed against her ribs.  As weak as she was, it really made no difference, but she appeared even more helpless than before.  “Shall I levitate her?”  

 

Ginny’s arm relaxed.

 

“No.  I can carry her.”  John seemed to study her, clearly wondering how he was going to lift her.  Hermione shot a look to Ginny and she wiggled a few fingers trying to signal her friend that the spell had worn off.

 

Seeing her opportunity and drawing forth all the courage she possessed, Ginny screamed  and barreled into Arty’s back, knocking him into the back of the overstuffed chair, cart-wheeling him over the top.  Her thoughts moved immediately to her wand and she pivoted with the agility of a sprinter and darted toward the window, her weapon readily in sight.

 

What she didn’t expect was the large Muggle man who tackled her legs, both bodies skidding across the floor.  She clawed and kicked furiously, her wand only inches away when she heard it.

 

“Accio wand!”  Ginny’s wand flew before her eyes, over her shoulder and then, quite suddenly, a sharp pain in her scalp caused her to jerk her head back and over, her body following suit.  With a large portion of her hair in his hand, Arty knocked her head into the floor and before she could recover from the spinning room, his fingers gripped her throat.  “Now that’s a naughty girl!”

 

John regained his footing and backed away in shock, dusting off his trousers.  

 

“No!  No!  Let her go!” Hermione screamed, trying to scoot around the chair, but it made no difference.  His hand restricted a bit more and Ginny found it hard to get any air in to her system.  Reactively, her hands reached for his, scratching to release them from her windpipe, but he only squeezed harder, his lip curling up with malice.

 

With a diagonal slash of his wand, her left hand slammed to the wood floor and held like glue.  A second slash and her right hand did the same.  A thin black leg hoisted over her as he straddled her waist, her neck already dotted in purple fingerprints.

 

Ginny could think of little else except the need for air, her heart beating furiously, her lungs empty and constricting, but somewhere in her sub-conscious she knew Hermione was screaming for him to stop and John begging to leave.  With a growl that tipped the scales to depravity, he backhanded Ginny in the mouth, finally standing up and moving away as if admiring his handiwork.

 

“Take the Mudblood outside.  I’ll join you in a minute.”

 

“No!  Please!”  Hermione cried, still trying to wriggle free, but only managing a boatload of tears for her suffering friend.

 

John picked her up and bent her in half over his shoulder.  “Hurry up Arty,” he pressed and grunted with the weight toward the front door.

 

Ginny felt her eyes rolling into her head as she continued to gasp for a breath, her lip now swelling, the taste of something metallic in her mouth.  “Well, Julie, darling.  I’m glad to see you have a little fire.  I guess that red hair is real.”  He walked slowly around her.  “I’m sorry I can’t stay, but you and me, we’ll have a date real soon and you can show me what lies beneath the red curls.”  He kicked her legs apart and she felt something warm cross over her pubic area.

 

A door opened, footsteps paced through the foyer and the door slammed, but Ginny could do nothing but breathe.  For once, that was enough.


	20. Chapter 20 - Lust and Possession

Chapter 20 – Lust and Possession

 

 “John…please, please put me down.”  Hermione looked like a sack of topsoil slung over John’s shoulder as he marched her out the front door.  The summer evening was absorbing a light shower and Hermione felt the pellets hit her back as John moved around the side of the two-story brick house toward the back lawn. 

He slurred through his still wired jaw.  “I can’t babe.  I’m sorry.”  His steps were determined, but he labored just slightly under Hermione’s weight. 

The Potter Estate – and truly it looked like an estate – consisted of twenty acres of land just skirting the edge of greater London’s borders in Surrey, the house occupying only one of those twenty.  Five more contained manicured gardens and trails, but the other fifteen were given over to nature’s devices.  At the far back of the lawn, where the neatly trimmed grass met its older, taller brother, the wards ended.  It was far enough away, Harry determined, that anyone breaching the wards would still have a serious two minute sprint to reach the main house. 

Hermione could only hear footsteps on damp grass and see little else, but she continued to try and talk her way out of this predicament.  “Why are you listening to him?  Can’t you see he’s trouble for you?  He’s a dark wizard, John.” 

“He’s my cousin!”  He readjusted her body weight over his shoulder and it had the effect of knocking the wind out of Hermione’s lungs as she bounced against his back. 

Most of the moonlight hid behind a set of thickening clouds and a dull rumble warned of an approaching storm.  John must have reached the designated spot for he bent over and Hermione tumbled off his back, landing in a somewhat cushioned crop of tall, wet grass. 

John panted as he hovered over her, his form black against a burst of lightening in the distance.  Her stomach had crawled into a knot, one end tugging tightly on the fear that Ginny had been left alone with the crazed man inside, another end creating disturbing images of what might await her.  She wasn’t sure who to be more afraid for:  Ginny or herself.  Listening to John’s mumbles through his immobile jaw, prompted her to apologize, despite her present loathing of the man.  She tried to adjust her voice to a more sympathetic tone. 

“I’m so sorry that you were hurt.  I never meant for any of this to happen.”  Then, an after thought.  “Ron wasn’t after _you_ , he just came to help Harry pick me up.  It was your cousin.  He’s the one that…” 

“STOP!”  He pointed a sharp finger at her.  “Stop blaming him for all this.  You don’t know him like I do!”  John started pacing on the still cut lawn.  A child would have recognized his agitation.  “He’s my friend.  He’s the only one who’s ever understood me!” 

Hermione’s heart beat wildly, but she tried to keep an even, understanding tone.  “What’s to understand, John?  Tell me.  I’m listening.  I’m your friend.”  She pleaded, the rain now pelting her on the face with increasing strength. 

“No, you’re not!  You’re my girlfriend!  There’s a difference.  You’re mine!  _My_ girlfriend!”  He punched his own chest with a fist. 

As much as Hermione didn’t want to agree with that, she thought it best to support his deranged conclusions for the time being until she could figure out what was going on. 

“Of course I am, John.”  She smiled, but not with her eyes.  “All yours.  You’ve been just wonderful.  The way you’ve taken care of me and fixed up the flat and…” 

“Yes, I have and what have you done?  You snuck out on me when I told you stay put, turned down my gifts, tried to call people for help as if mine wasn’t good enough.  You wanted to leave me!”  He rotated back, his face much closer to her and screamed.  “There’s no leaving!  Do you understand?”  Hermione nodded in panic.  “You belong to me!  You are going to help me find the key and then I will have all the magic and mum won’t have to be afraid anymore!” 

Hermione absorbed that last bewildering statement and was about to dig a bit deeper when another voice approached from behind John. 

“Alright, cuz.  Let’s get out of here.  I’ll take the mudblood, you wait.  I’ll come back for you.” 

“But, can’t we both go at the same time?” John asked, rain dripping off his nose as he faced his cousin. 

Even in the dark, Hermione could hear the deception in Carrow’s tone.  “I could Apparate both of you at once, but being she’s so weak, well… she might get hurt.”  Arty’s concern sounded about as genuine as an original Ollivander wand in a street vendor’s cart.  He could care less if she got hurt, that much she was sure of. 

“Well, alright, but hurry.  It’s starting to storm and I don’t want to get caught by Potter.” 

“You won’t get caught.  Why would he be out here in the middle of an oncoming storm?” 

Hermione could sense John’s agreement to what seemed like good common sense. 

Keeping up his whole ‘caring for Hermione’ ruse, Arty grabbed her by the upper arm and tugged.  “Up we go.” His painful grip was overshadowed by the dulcet tones of a kindergarten teacher encouraging the class to climb on the bus.  “Let’s get you back home, hmmm?” 

Hermione knew it was futile to argue with Arty, but continued to try her best with John.  He appeared her best and last hope for survival.  She tugged away.  “Please, John, don’t let him take me.  I want to go with you.” 

With her arm still in Arty’s grip, John walked up and tenderly stroked his fingers over her cheek.  “Don’t worry love.  We’ll be together tonight.  You and me.  All night.”  His hand gripped her chin, squeezing her lips together.  “Such beautiful lips.  I just need another blood sample and then I’m through with the testing.  Of course, being my girlfriend and all, you’ll certainly want to stay with me and show me what those lips can do.” 

Arty broke the moment and Hermione almost felt relieved.   

“See you later, cuz.”  Without even seeing Arty’s expression, she knew he was lying.  Her heart skidded to a halt as he gripped her and twisted, the whooshing accompanying an escape of air from her lungs as they pushed through time and space.  The landing was hard, not for Artimus, for he obviously dropped her in lieu of a more secure landing for himself.  Hermione’s crumpled form blanketed the concrete apron in front of a large metal garage door.  She struggled to get a breath back in her chest; the landing had jarred her so severely.   

“Well, Ms. Granger.  How the mighty have fallen.”  He started up the L-shaped concrete steps, a burgundy railing shining in the light of the overhead street lamp. 

“Aren’t you going back to get John?” she surprised herself at asking. 

“Jack’s a big boy.  He’ll find his way here.  No, you and I need to have a little talk and I have to introduce you to some people.  You see, we run in different circles.”  He reached the top landing and waved his wand over the metal door.  “You slum it with mudbloods, blood-traitors and enemies of the state.  I tend to socialize with a highly respectable crowd and they’re quite pissed off with you and your little trio of traitors.  We’re going to have a little fun until your friends show up.” 

The garage door rattled and suddenly began to rise. 

***   

Harry Floo’d over to Ron’s flat and found some boxers, jeans and a t-shirt, shrunk them and stuffed them into his pocket.  Then he Apparated to the Ministry.  After a brief after-hours meeting with Kingsley to explain Ron’s absence and to get the latest updates on Carrow’s whereabouts, Harry decided to stop at his desk for a few minutes.  Lola had left him four notes detailing her displeasure with his choice for Public Relations – Hermione.  Apparently, being ‘ill’ wasn’t a good enough excuse for the seasoned employee who had never missed a day of work in her career.  Of course, she’d managed to give everyone around several lovely colds due to her own lack of common sense.  Another note with a St. Mungo’s stamp sat on his desk and he quickly thumbed it open. 

“Dear Mr. Potter,” Harry mumbled softly to himself.  “St. Mungo’s is delighted and so thankful for your incredible donation to our Infectious Spells Department.  Your contributions to wizarding society continue to set an example for us all and we are so grateful for your kindness and generosity.  As requested, the original staff have been put back on full salary and we will keep your donation in confidence.  The staff are all anxious to continue their work for the betterment of wizard kind and hope to find a cure for the unknown virus very soon.  We hope that you will honor us with a visit in the near future…blah, blah, blah…kindest regards, Marcella Hope, Hospital Administrator.”  Harry dropped the letter on his desk, huffing in frustration.  “Well, it’s about time.  Gold always does the trick.” 

A sharp rap on the door caught his attention. 

“Come in.” 

“Lieutenant?” 

Auror Kreighton stood at rapt attention, chest out, chin held high just inside Harry’s door.  “At ease Kreighton.  What can I do for you?”  Harry folded the letter and slipped it in his pocket with the intention of keeping his little donation a secret for the time being. 

“Sir, about this morning.  I want to apologize.” 

Harry immediately noticed the remains of a bruise on the Auror’s forehead, the result of his fast moving body meeting Harry’s locked Floo that morning.  “Kreighton, that was my fault for locking the Floo so quickly.  I’m sorry you were injured in the process.  It wasn’t my intention.” 

Kreighton’s eyes softened for a millisecond before snapping back to attention.  “Yes, sir, thank you, sir.  It’s just that Judge Randolph kind of hand picked me as part of his enforcement squad and…” 

“And you were following orders.  I understand.” 

“Yes, Sir, but you see…I don’t agree with him.  The judge has picked a bunch of really green Aurors who are so eager to move up, they’re willing to do just about anything.  They don’t know Auror Weasley yet and well…I just don’t want to be a part of his goon squad.” 

Harry nodded.  “That’s very perceptive of you, Kreighton,” he continued.  “I would never ask you to contradict orders, but I’m glad to see you recognize the value of loyalty and display such strong moral fiber.”  Harry smiled internally at the phrase that had been used to describe him some years back. 

“I only hope to live up to your fine example, sir.”  He spoke in all seriousness. 

“Ah, sucking up will get you no where, Kreighton.  Unless, of course, you bring a bottle of Ogden Select along with you.” 

Kreighton’s eyes turned up at the jest, but quickly settled back to military respectfulness.  “Um…Lieutenant…do you have any word on Auror Weasley’s status?” 

“Status?” Harry asked pointing to the chair by his desk, a gesture for Kreighton to sit. 

Kreighton slipped into it.  “It’s just that the men have been asking about him.  They look up to him… _and_ you, sir.  And seeing him brought before the Judge and then crying like that when the Granger woman fell ill.  Well…it really disturbed some of them.” 

“He’ll be fine, Kreighton.  He just needs a bit of time.  Ron’s a resilient bloke.”  Harry chuckled. 

Kreighton paused as if gathering his courage.  “I don’t mean to pry, sir, but…well…is Auror Weasley in a relationship with Ms. Granger?” 

“That’s kind of personal, isn’t it?”  Harry eyed him furtively. 

“Yes, sir.  I’m sorry, sir.  I’ll just be going.”  He stood up and snapped back to attention.  “Have a good night, Lieutenant.” 

“Ben…” Harry used the Auror’s first name and a softer tone “…Ron and Hermione have been very close since they were children.  She’s been very ill and it’s been taxing on him.  He may have made some emotional decisions that weren’t in his best interest, but his heart was in the right place.” 

Kreighton looked touched at being addressed so personally.  “Could you please relay to him and Ms. Granger our best wishes for a speedy recovery and…”  Kreighton appeared to have a heavy heart that needed unloading “…tell him we support him fully.” 

“I’ll be sure to pass that on to him.  And remember, you’re invited for tea this weekend.” 

“Yes, sir.  I look forward to it.”  Kreighton pivoted and walked away.  Harry watched him leave, realizing what a huge impact Ron had on the men in the department, what a valuable asset he was and wanted him back on his feet all the more.  He could only pray that his mate was as strong as he hoped and able to weather the impact of this virus. 

Several of his men were charged with finding and following Carrow.  Not an easy task and he had several progress reports on his desk.  Two sightings looked promising and the last team, consisting of Robert Williams and Hugh Godfrey were staking out a warehouse that very night, hoping to catch the dark wizard. 

Strolling out of the office and back to the lifts, Harry decided to Apparate home and check the wards.  They had held really well, but had taken a beating and he decided to walk the perimeter once before heading in for the evening. 

Appearing at the edge of his lawn, the rain immediately dotted his face and he pulled the hood of his robe up over his head.  A thunderstorm seemed to be approaching quickly from the west.  The air smelled thick with moisture.  Making quick work of it, he started around the side of the house, testing the wards and repairing if necessary. 

 A burst of lightening lit up the night sky and Harry did a double take at what appeared a black human figure standing at the back of his lot.  It was far too dark to see anything and if someone was there, he wasn’t going to light his wand and tell them ‘looky, looky, here’s Harry Potter’ so he continued to walk, now a bit more carefully and slowly, listening for anything out of the ordinary. 

The sounds of rain hitting the grass and trees, and a dull rumble were the only sounds.  Reaching the spot where he had seen the form, lightening flashed again and he looked quickly around but saw no one.  Waving his wand, he noticed a hole in the wards, big enough for several people to sneak through and he fixed it immediately, again checking the area, his senses on alert. 

The lights in the house were on and all seemed quiet, but he began to jog back to the house.  Something told him to hurry, something had him on edge.  He was sure he had seen a body standing there just moments before.  Could someone have broached his wards afterall?  He should have checked them earlier.  Approaching the back of the house, Harry’s stomach dived to his toes when he noticed the large wooden door ajar.  Lifting his wand at the ready, he slipped inside and listened.  It was dead quiet, almost too quiet. 

His heart thudding heavily, he put all his senses on alert.  His thoughts immediately shifted into prayer mode, promising anything in return for a good outcome.  The hairs on the back of his neck warned of danger and no amount of logic could undo it.  His two best friends lie ill upstairs, unable to defend themselves to attack and his Ginny, his love, was left alone to protect the lot of them.  Harry wanted to kick himself for leaving, despite the necessity of the situation.   

The back entry and laundry area appeared clear.  Checking the office next, everything looked in place.  He backed around the wall into the foyer and then toward the kitchen.  A funny warbly sound caught his attention and he scooted toward the library, terrified of what he might find.  Horrible visions flashed at every turn as he got closer to the unusual sounds. 

Large scorch marks had defaced the library’s paneled doors, one ripped from the track and Harry tensed as he looked around the frame.  What he found shocked him to the core.  Ginny lie spread eagle on the wood floor, a bright red ‘X’ across her crotch.  His heart stopped, unable to fathom if the red was paint or something wholly worse.  Ignoring any potential dangers, he ran toward her, quickly checking the rest of the room before he dropped to his knees. 

She made a gurgly noise and it was then Harry noticed the awful purple strangulation marks around her throat.  Her eyes rolled and blinked rapidly as if gasping for sight as well. 

“Ginny,” he kept his voice to a harsh, hurried whisper.  “Oh, god, Ginny.  Who did this to you?”  Still glancing behind him for fear of an intruder, he tried two different spells before releasing her arms and trembled as he tried the only appropriate healing spell he could think of over her throat.  It must have helped a little, for she began coughing, a good sign that air was getting in and out.  Frantic, he stroked the hair from her face, not wanting to leave her and yet terrified of the consequences of not.  “Are they still here?” 

It became instantly clear that Ginny was in no condition to tell him anything.  Not sure of her injuries, he decided it best to leave her there and check the rest of house.  There could be unwanted visitors still lurking.  Trying desperately to get his emotions under control, he clenched his jaw and drew in several short, rage-filled breaths.  Ginny began to cry and Harry dreaded leaving her with a kiss to her head.   

“Shh…don’t cry, Gin.  Please…try to stay quiet, love.”  He leaned as close to her as he could and still make eye contact.  “Gin, I’m going to check the house.  I’ll be right back.  I promise.”  He took one last gut-wrenching look at her, gently lowered her head to the floor and slipped back into the foyer.  Scoping the dining room and parlor, and finding it empty, he began a cautious ascent up the stairs. 

Finding Ginny in such a horrible condition, his heart slammed against his chest wall in anticipation of something even more gruesome for Ron or Hermione.  For a brief second, he closed his eyes, trying to shake the vision.  He couldn’t allow himself to think of them in harm; he had to keep his wits about him.  He might be all they had at the moment.  Hermione’s room was on the left and he listened at the door, wand raised, before slowly turning the knob.  The bed appeared empty and made as if Hermione had never slept in it at all.  The attached bathroom was clear as was his own bedroom and adjoining bath.  Three other bedrooms sat in the far wing of the house, but Harry’s thoughts turned to Ron and he took the same steps, cautiously slipping inside. 

Ron’s snores could be easily heard through the door and Harry peaked inside, his friend out to the world, nothing covering him except a neck to arse patchwork quilt of gauze pads.  Relief overwhelmed him, but he needed help.  He needed his partner. 

“Ron.”  Harry nudged him as carefully as he could.  “Ron, wake up.” 

Ron snorted loudly and rolled, a loud grunt of pain stopping him and bringing him back to consciousness quickly. 

“Fuck that hurts!” he mumbled. 

“Ron, someone’s been in the house. Ginny’s hurt and I can’t find Hermione.” 

“W-what?” he asked, trying to rise up on his side. 

Harry pulled out the clothing he had collected from Ron’s flat.  “Keep it down.  Here, I got you something to wear.”  He tossed the miniature items on the bed, waved his wand and they enlarged back to normal size.  “I know you’re in bad shape, mate, but I need you.  I think the house is clear, but I can’t be sure.  I didn’t check the bedrooms at the far end.  I’m going to Apparate out and get help, but I need you to be alert.” 

“Sure, sure.  Maybe Hermione’s hiding.”  Ron tried to push himself up, wincing at the pain.  “Where’s Ginny?”   

“In the library.  It’s bad, Ron.” 

Ron nodded his understanding and Harry stepped back and twisted out of sight with a crack.  

 ***  

Every movement brought a stinging pain, but Ron clenched his jaw and got out of the bed.  He slipped on the t-shirt and boxers, but the denims were just too much to bear.  His irritated tailbone wouldn’t tolerate the friction and so he decided that boxers would have to do.  Slipping on his shoes, he grabbed his wand from the nearby table and walked, grunting as quietly as he could manage with each step down the hall, checking the other bedrooms which appeared all clear.  Then, to the foyer he crossed into the library as quickly and cautiously as he could. 

A series of loud cracks made him turn in defense, but it was Harry, followed by Kreighton, Phillips and Kingsley.  “I brought the cavalry.” 

Ron turned back, looking into the library, the others following him at a much faster pace.  Ginny still lay on the floor, but had curled onto her side and was whimpering.  Even on her side, Ron noticed the red marks on the inside of her thighs and wondered what it meant, his mouth falling open in shock. 

“Ginny.”  Harry spoke gently, rolling her back toward him carefully and then Ron saw the horrible bruises on her neck.  

“Fuck!  What happened?” he stepped forward.  “God dammit.  Did I sleep through the whole thing?”  He knelt down closer to Ginny, but was forced to look away, squeezing his eyes shut.  “Fuck!”   

“I’ll get a Healer,” announced Philips and he disappeared.  Ginny struggled to speak, but her words were strained and whispered, her brown eyes watered over.  “…rminey.” 

“Do you know where she is?” Ron blurted out immediately, snapping back to look at her. 

“Sweetheart, who did this to you?”  Harry persisted, his hands hovering over her neck as if wanting to touch her, but sickened at the awful marks on her and afraid to cause her more pain.   

“Jah…” 

“John?” Ron asked and Ginny managed a partial nod.  “John came here and took Hermione?” 

“Yes,” came her breathy reply.  Kingsley pulled Kreighton out for another sweep of the house. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” cried Ron.  “He did this to you?  I’m going to break that fuckers neck when I get hold of him!”  Ron twisted in rage, but the sharp stab of pain produced another string of swear words as he leaned into the back of the sofa.  “Shite!” 

“No…Dark Wiza…” Ginny kept trying. 

“What?”  Harry cradled her head, trying to understand the partial words she formed.  “Dark Wizard?” 

She nodded.  “A dark wizard hurt you?” 

“He…took her,” she coughed. 

Kreighton appeared back in the doorway.  “Carrow?  Was it Carrow?” he pressed, catching Harry’s concerned eyes. 

The sounds of the Floo flared in the background and Phillips ran up, panting.  “I’ve got a Healer.” 

Surprisingly, Healer Rockwell was on call that evening and ambled in, kneeling at Ginny’s side.  Harry backed up, but kept his hand wrapped around Ginny’s trembling fingers, bellowing out orders and instructions.  Ron stepped a bit closer, alternating between watching Harry bark out orders and Rockwell tend to his sister. 

“We have to find Hermione,” Harry growled.  “Kreighton, go back and check on that warehouse that Williams is watching tonight.  Phillips, I want you to track down Judge Peterson, I don’t care if you have to pound on his door, but you tell him what’s going on and get a search order for Hermione’s flat.”

Phillips looked a little unsure, something Ron noticed.  “And, Phillips…” Ron added “be persuasive, do you understand?” 

“Yes, sir.”  Phillips took off just as Kingsley reappeared. 

“House is clear.” Kingsley stated, watching intensely as the Healer worked on Ginny’s throat.  “I need to report this to the Minister.  Are you alright here, Harry?”   

Harry nodded, focused on Ginny’s breathing which now sounded a bit more natural, less raspy.  “Meet me at headquarters as soon as you can,” Kingsley ordered and ran out the door. 

“Your spine is clear of injuries, you have a bump on the back of your head, but it appears no concussion.” 

“Carrow…” she reached up to touch her head and Rockwell nodded his understanding.  “Is he the one who choked you as well?” 

Ginny nodded and tried to sit up, Harry turning concerned eyes to the healer.

 “Looks like he stopped just before doing serious damage to your larynx.”  He turned to Harry as they helped Ginny sit up.  “I’ve reduced the swelling, airway is intact, but she’ll need a day or so before the bruises completely clear.”   

“What about the…” Harry gestured to the red mark on her denims, obviously thinking the worst.  He struggled with the words, trying to ask Ginny directly.  “Did he…” but it seemed too difficult to contemplate while staring at her bruised neck.  He turned away, grabbing Rockwell by the arm.  “Was she…assaulted?” 

“No, it doesn’t appear so, but you should talk to her about it.  Probably more of a threat.  I don’t see any physical injuries.” 

Harry’s eyes slipped shut as if thanking God for his answered prayer. 

Rockwell turned back to Ginny, now breathing more normally.  “You were very lucky, Ms. Weasley.  Normally, I would suggest a night at St. Mungo’s just to monitor you, but something tells me you aren’t going to agree to that.”  Ginny shook her head as Ron began to help her up, wincing as he did so.  “That’s what I thought.”  Harry immediately took her other arm and the two of them helped her to the nearby sofa, but Ron was forced to let go and grip the side of the sofa as another wash of pain hit him. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Rockwell asked and Ron quickly licked his lips and tried to gather himself. 

“I’m fine,” he lied, coming up with an appropriate explanation.  “Sore back.” 

Rockwell nodded and glanced back at Harry, obviously considering the best options for his patient before addressing her again.  “Well, I don’t think you _have_ to go to the hospital, but don’t try to talk tonight, eat soft or liquid foods if you can, drink as much as you can tolerate, rest and I’d like you to come by in the morning and let me look at your neck once more.”  Ginny nodded, her eyes tight with emotion.   

He turned to Harry.  “Don’t leave her alone tonight.  If she has any trouble breathing, bring her straight to the hospital.” 

Harry caught Ron’s same expression, both of them so angry they could spit tacks.  Ron sucked in a large breath and straightened up, wiping his forehead against the sleeve of his t-shirt.  He still winced, but Harry had the sense that adrenaline and raw emotions were now his pain killers and he almost felt sorry for the beating that John or possibly Carrow was going to get when they came across him.   

“We need to go,” Ron growled, his fists clenching and releasing, eyes darting to Kreighton with the ferocity of a territorial lion. 

Ginny grabbed on to Harry’s shirt, the moment he sat down beside her, and began to cry in raspy wails, all of her fear and pain pouring out of her as he held her close.  Rocking with her, his own rage built as he stared at the other men in the room.  He truly wanted to kill whomever did this to her.  Everyone looked stunned at a display of such evil depravity on the innocent girl. 

“I’m sorry, Harry.”  Ginny’s voice finally warbled clearly enough.  “I tried to stop them, but they took her.” 

“Hey, hey…” he stroked her hair, “it’s not your fault.  I should have stayed here,” his voice broke.  “Now, you heard the Healer.  Don’t talk.”  Harry pulled her into his lap and stood up.  “I’m taking you to the Burrow and then I’m going to track down these bastards.” 

For once, Ginny didn’t complain and Harry took that as a good sign that she felt bad enough to endure a little mothering at the moment. 

“I’ll find her, Ron.”  Harry looked to the other men in the room.  “I’ll meet you at the office in a few,” Harry instructed and quickly Disapparated. 

Ignoring any implied orders from Harry, Ron got dressed, Kreighton having donated a slightly larger pair of black cargo pants that Ron could almost tolerate against his skin.  He knew about the possibility of his contagion and warned Kreighton to keep away, but there was no way in hell that he was going to stay in this house if Hermione needed him.   

Arriving via Floo, Ron continued to wipe the sweat from his brow as he entered the Auror department, lingering a few feet away from Kreighton, Williams and Kingsley.  Harry showed up a few minutes later.

 “Ron, you shouldn’t be here.” 

“You can’t keep me away and you know it.” 

Harry paused as if about to take drastic steps to keep his friend home, but seemed to suddenly have a change of heart. 

“Can you move?” he stepped up to speak privately with Ron. 

“My back is really fucked up,” he whispered, “but I took some of Hermione’s Muggle pain killers.  Hope they work for a while,” he rubbed his cheek against the arm of his t-shirt. 

“Still, we should take precautions.”  Harry turned back, now full voice.  “Kreighton, you’re pure-blood, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I already told him I have a cold.” 

Harry squinted at the use of the simple term for his deadly disease.  “Alright, well who else?” Harry looked around the room. 

Everyone else replied with various measurements, ‘half’, ‘quarter’,’muggle born’ and Harry felt just a bit relieved that most of his squad would be immune.  Phillips walked in at the same moment. 

“Well?” Harry asked. 

“Judge Peterson was a little hesitant, but I told him it was for you and he issued the order.”  Phillips handed Harry a piece of parchment. 

“Thank you Phillips.  Are you pure blood?”   

Phillips looked confused for a second.  “Um…half, Sir.” 

“Good.  What about Godfrey?” 

“He’s a half, Sir,” replied Williams. 

“Alright then, Kreighton, you keep your distance from Ron, understand?” 

Kreighton nodded, chancing a glance at Ron who could see that his subordinate didn’t completely understand why, but knew to follow orders none-the-less. 

“The rest of you, wait here one minute.”  Harry ran into his office and closed the door, walking out a minute later with two rolled documents in hand and another small slip of paper.  “Phillips, assemble a team and send them to Ms. Granger’s flat.  If they find anything or anyone, call me.”   

“I’ll go,” Ron announced, stepping toward him. 

“No, Ron.  You stay with me.  Phillips can handle this.  I really doubt that they’ve gone there and if they were truly stupid enough to have done so, we can be there in seconds.” 

Ron was ready to argue, but something about Harry’s tenor and the focus in the way he barked out orders, told him to let the plan play out.  Harry rarely led him down the wrong path. 

Harry pushed another roll of parchment into Phillips’ hand, this one sealed with what looked like Judge Randolphs’s official seal.  “Then, take this to the central clerk’s office, wake them up if you have to and insist it get done immediately.”  He handed him the smaller paper.  “Meet us at this address and do it quietly.  Now go!”   

Phillips took off at a run. 

“What was that?” Kingsley asked, a leery frown enveloping his face. 

“I’ll tell you later.”  Harry marched over to a nearby locker, opened it and began pulling out several knives and slipping one into a sheath on his leg.  

“How about you tell me now?” 

“Kingsley, you don’t want to know.” 

“That doesn’t give me warm feelings to hear you say that.”  Kingsley folded his arm, an interrogation about to occur.  “I’m not going to end up in the Minister’s office tomorrow morning over this am I?” 

“Not if this goes as planned.”  Harry handed another knife to Kreighton and one to Ron. 

“Overkill?” Ron asked. 

“We might be dealing with Muggles as well as wizards.  Best to be prepared.”  Harry turned his attention back to the rest of the group.  “So?” 

Robert unrolled a map of London and pointed with his wand tip to a particular area near the Thames.  “Alright, we’ve been watching this warehouse because a man described as looking like Carrow came in and out of it a couple of times in the past two days along with a variety of rabble.” 

“Who told you?”  Ron asked, stepping closer just as Kreighton backed away. 

“Informant.  Good one.  Anyway, about fifteen minutes ago, he showed up again, this time Apparating in with a girl over his shoulder.  We couldn’t see her face, but he dumped her on the concrete, walked up the steps, opened the large garage door and then three other men came out and pulled her in, kicking and screaming.  The door closed before we could see anything else.  Godfrey called for back-up and Kreighton just told us about Ms. Granger.” 

“It’s got to be Hermione.  What about John?”  Ron asked.  “Muggle.  Brown hair, medium build, dickhead.  Did he show up?” 

“Um…no dickhead, sir.”  William replied, trying to sound serious but covering a slight grin. 

After another minute of discussion on the best way to approach the building and with each Auror checking himself and his gear, Harry asked for their attention.  

“One last thing.  If we do find Hermione, try not to use magic on or around her.  She’s not well and the healer told us not to expose her to magic.  It could have serious consequences.” 

The men all nodded their understanding as Kingsley made an emergency Portkey and all five of them spun away.  Their landing was nearly silent, except for Ron’s pain-induced stumble into a nearby pick-up truck. 

Godfrey stood hiding behind a large dumpster and spun around at the sound of the approaching men.  Harry quickly briefed him on the plan and they were about to approach when a set of headlights hit their faces from the alleyway ahead.  Four of them ran back behind the dumpster, but Ron and Kingsley ended up tucked behind the concrete steps that led up to the warehouse. 

The auto approached, slowed and finally stopped directly in front of the warehouse.  It was a taxi.  The passenger in the back handed some money over to the driver and stepped out, glancing at the building as he walked around the front of the cab, just feet from where Ron lie hiding. 

Within about two seconds, Kingsley’s wand started vibrating, Ron’s following suit a millisecond later.  Ron seemed to know who it was without even looking and mouthed his contempt using a colorful noun that described a large pile of dog poo. 

John walked up the steps and knocked on the door.  It opened and a myriad of cheering voices erupted from within.   

“Cuz!”  Arty cried, holding the door open.  “There you are!” 

“Why the hell didn’t you come back to get me?” John started in, clearly fuming over his apparent abandonment. 

“The wards went up.  Couldn’t get through, but I knew you’d find a way to get here.  Come on in, we’re having a little celebration with your girlfriend.” 

The plan had been for all of them to cover different entrances, to basically surround the warehouse’s inhabitants in a nice, orderly take down, but all Ron could think of was the fact that Hermione was scared and weak and inside alone, and he’d make a really good target, perhaps enough for them to leave her and take out their aggressions on him.  So, as John stepped through the door, Ron made his move.  He wasn’t as quick as usual, but rage fuelled the fire and he jumped up onto the concrete landing and grabbed the door knob before it closed. 

Harry lamented, “Fuck, Mrs. Weasley is going to kill me.” 

Kingsley reacted with startled speed, running behind him, but standing to the other side of the door, his eyes wide with confusion.  Harry stepped out from behind the dumpster, his face literally screaming ‘Ron, what the hell are you doing?’ and Ron met his green with blue and he calmly pulled the door open and walked in.   

***  

“Shite!”  Harry exclaimed, quickly re-engineering the plan as he scoped out the surrounding area.  In a perfect Molly imitation, Harry recited her previous instructions.  “You keep an eye on Ronald now.  I can always count on you to look out for him.” He voice returned to normal.  “Fuck, Ron.  Why do you do this to me?”   

Ron would now be the distraction, the decoy and Harry raised two fingers and pointed at the side entrance.  Godfrey and Williams took off, understanding their task. 

Kingsley had spun around to the other side of the door and had wedged it open, his own command instructing Kreighton up the wrought-iron ladder that bolted onto the side of the building, eventually leading to a balcony above.  Kreighton took a huge leap onto the platform, jumped and hung by a single arm before pulling himself up the ladder. 

Harry was about to join Kingsley at the door when Phillips appeared behind the dumpster.   

“Sir!” Phillips whispered.   

Another hand gesture from Harry indicated Phillips should remain as the eyes and ears and possibly the last row of defense against Judge Randolph’s goon squad which he knew would be arriving soon if Phillips hadn’t been successful. 

***  

Ron stepped in quietly, still hoping to have some element of surprise.  A barrage of voices hit him from several angles, all of them sounding cheerful, but a bit wicked.  He couldn’t make out the actual words, but crept closer, still grimacing against the still healing cuts on his back and groin.  Easing between two crates that had been stacked several layers high, he peered through a gap and saw part of a body bouncing in the air.  It didn’t take a member of Mensa to determine the form was Hermione.  Her desperate cries began to seep through the mix of male voices, all talking on top of each other. 

“This is the smart one.  Aren’t you the smart one little girl?  I heard you were Potter’s brains in the whole operation.  You think you’re smarter than me?  Huh?” 

“Anyone’s smarter than you, Daughtry,” laughed another man, several more joining in. 

“I’ll give you a hundred Galleons that Potter shows up to try and save her.” 

“I ain’t takin’ that bet.  You think I’m a moron?” 

“Oh, I know you’re a moron.” 

“Shut it or I’ll hex it off.” 

“Yeah, just try.” 

“She doesn’t look right.  I think you should let her down.” 

“How ‘bout we let her _go_ down.  That sounds much more fun.”  Several more jeers of laughter filled the room. 

“Don’t hurt her too much, I still need her.”  It was John’s voice. 

“Oh, we won’t damage her too completely.  Just have a little fun.  Right, sweet cheeks?” 

Ron heard a slap and Hermione cried a little louder. 

“Are you a virgin, sweet cheeks?” 

“Hey, come on, she’s mine.”  John again. 

“Look, we don’t take to well to Muggle trash like yourself so I’d watch it.  You have to learn to share.  Didn’t your mummy ever teach you how to share?” 

“Well, I’ll be one of you before long.” 

“Really?  Well, that’s a laugh.” 

“I will!” 

“Sure, Cuz.” 

Ron stayed low and moved behind the crates, trying to get a better look at the scene, mopping his forehead again.  The warehouse sat devoid of any ventilation or cooling system, the contained heat only adding to Ron’s already increased temperature.  Finally he saw Hermione fully levitated in the air, spinning around as if someone had tied a rope to one wrist and one ankle.  Her shirt was ripped open in the front, devoid of all its buttons which he suspected were the tiny white dots scattered on the floor.  The drawstring at the top of her sweat pants dangled, untied, toward the ground, her eyes spoke of all engulfing terror and pain.  In her already weakened state, all Ron could think of was how to get her down. 

The large warehouse seemed to be lined with five high wooden crates, but the area they stood in had been kept clear for the loading dock.  From what Ron could tell, the room held Carrow, John and about four other men, all wizards it appeared.  Getting a clear look at the face of the tallest one, Ron recognized him from a report detailing a kidnapping and rape of several young witches in Derbyshire.  The others were unknown, but apparently friends of Carrow.  They all looked pretty young, the tallest now walked over and grabbed Hermione by the hair, pulling her down for a long, rough kiss that involved a disgustingly thick tongue. 

Hermione tried to struggle and Ron felt his common sense leave him in a rush of fury. 

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER!”  Ron bellowed, stepping into the open, his vibrating wand pointed at the tall man.  

 “What the hell?” 

Hermione cried, gasping, still floating indiscriminately.  Ron tried to place himself between Hermione and the others, but Carrow stepped between them. 

“Ah!” Carrow smiled as if welcoming an expected guest.  “Mr. Weasley.  I was wondering when you were going to join us.” 

“Keep him the hell away from me!” roared John, pointing a finger at Ron as he stepped back.  His jaw still stitched together with wire, he sounded remarkably clear, considering.  “You aren’t allowed to be near me!” 

“Oh, Jack boy, hush up now.  You’re being rude to our guest.”  Carrow’s wand was trained on Ron now.  “So, who wins the bet for Mr. Weasley’s appearance?” 

“Better yet,” Ron finally spoke to Carrow, his wand still trained on the tallest of the group “who’ll bet that I can’t slash through this man’s gut and snap your neck all in one move?” 

A few of the men looked a bit concerned.  Ron knew that his and Harry’s reputations carried a long way.  They’d been in the news enough with the whole Battle of Hogwarts and then in apprehending various dark witches and wizards over the past few years.  And, other than the tall one, Ron bested each of them in height and size.  If he could just stay upright and ignore his back, he might be able to take at least one of them down. 

One particularly slimey bloke in the back, wavered a bit, his lip twitching with uncertainty, eyes bulging wide.  He reminded Ron of a younger Peter Pettigrew, only thinner and with longer hair.  Ron addressed his next statement to him.  “If you were smart, like Ms. Granger here, you’d put your wand down.  Otherwise, I can’t guarantee you won’t end up lining the bottom of the dumpster outside, along with a lovely nest of rats and the rest of the trash.” 

John was hiding behind Carrow.  “Take him out, Arty,” he encouraged, his eyes wildly excited. 

Ron’s wand continued to vibrate.  They all seemed to notice, but looked confused and Ron knew that none of them  recognized the fact that with a restraining order issued on Ron, he would be unable to use his wand against John.  In fact, if he tried to use it on anybody or anything within six feet of John, it would fail - part of the reasoning for keeping it trained on the big bloke who stood at least ten feet away from John and Carrow. 

“Don’t be so hypocritical, Weasley.  You’re about as trashy as they come.”  Carrow cocked his head, apparently rethinking the taunt.  “I take that back, mudblood Granger here really scrapes the bottom of the slime barrel.” 

“You don’t even know her.  What did she ever do to you?” asked Ron. 

“Are you kidding?  You haven’t read the papers much have you?”  Carrow waved his wand through the air.  “Famous Trio Defends Hogwarts.  Carrows Arrested.” 

“That wasn’t you, though.” 

“No, it was my family.  My brother and sister are rotting in Azkaban, so who do you think was left to deal with my demented mother?  She’s been sick for years.”  Carrow spun his wand in a circle, his own spark of insanity showing in his eyes.  “They say it’s all in her head.  You know…poor gene pool and all that.” 

John was still hovering behind Arty and part of a crate, his eyes shifting between Hermione and Ron’s wand. 

“So, after being stuck with her and her stupid rambling and bed pans everyday and being the loving son that I am, I tried to help her.  Scrambled her brain around a little bit, you know, wand up the nose, just stirred things up.”  He whipped his wand as if beating an egg.   

“You what?” John asked, his own torturous ways easily eclipsed by such barbaric actions. 

“And do you know what I got in return?  They locked me up in a mental hospital in Hungary.  No magic.  No wand.  For four fucking years!  I had to live like a fucking mudblood.  I didn’t enjoy that!”  he snorted. 

“I’ll bet.” Ron replied, his eyes darting to the weasel in the back who was attempting to step away slowly, unaware he was about to bump into Williams who had managed to sneak in the back.   

“So, I think it’s only fair that the ‘famous trio’ gets to share in the same fun.  I already took care of this one.”  Carrow gestured toward Hermione who now hung limp, her hair draped over her face.  Ron’s attention went back to her, almost to his own demise.  “And you can be next,” Carrow rushed. 

“Extirpatus magus!”  Carrow’s wand snapped forward, the spell shooting forth in a sizzle of green.  Ron jumped to his left, knowing his wand wouldn’t work in John’s vicinity.  He roared in pain as he rolled behind the crates, forcing air in and out of his gritted teeth.  A bellow of voices erupted at the same moment and he knew his fellow Aurors had arrived.  Spells began to fly in every direction.   The crates weren’t going to do him any good and with Hermione now screaming, her frail body caught in the cross fire, Ron grunted, ducked out and shouted “Protego,” his shield wrapping around her floating form. 

John scrambled about, not sure what to do or where to hide now that his safety blanket was otherwise involved.  Suddenly and for reasons unknown, Carrow released Hermione from her floating prison and she thudded to the floor.  Ron kept his shield on her, but watched warily as John drew closer.  One more foot toward Hermione and Ron’s wand would fizzle out and the shield along with it. 

Williams had already captured and bound the bloke in the back.  Harry and Kingsley were engaging Carrow, who appeared to delight in the duel.  A strong déjà vu of Hogwarts flashed in Ron’s head as they countered and pushed him more and more toward the back of the building.  Someone was shooting off rounds from the ceiling, sending the tall bloke skidding across the floor, and Godfrey had stunned one other and was about to get blind-sided from the balding, Cro-Magnon look-alike hiding behind the large support post. 

“Hugh!  Look out!”  Ron screamed, forced to release his shield.  “Stupify!”  A jet of light raced toward Ron’s target, but John chose that exact moment to run toward Hermione and Ron’s burst of magic dissipated instantly.  “Shite!” 

Luckily, his alert had gotten Godfrey’s attention and he immobilized the man while he was still staring at Ron’s impending spell.  When Ron looked back, he nearly froze. 

Hermione was on her feet.  John had his left arm wrapped around her waist, his right around her neck, pulling her back toward the wall.  His ink eyes protruded with fear and possession.  Hermione was gripping her shoulder in pain. 

“Let her go!”  Ron blared, stepping toward him, his wand still buzzing.  “Don’t hurt her.” 

“Stay away from me, Weasley…” he gritted through his mashed teeth.  “…or…or I’ll snap her neck like a twig.”  John shifted his hand up to her throat to reinforce the threat, Hermione’s eyes open, but fluttering wildly. 

A high pitched voice shrieked from across the room, tauntingly, teasingly.  “Like a twig! Take her Jacky Boy!  Eeeee!”  However, a loud bang shook the room and the banchee-like wail stopped, followed by a thud and another crack. 

“Come here you little fucker!” cried Harry, scanning the room for Carrow’s next appearance.   

Kingsley’s voice bellowed all the way to the rafters.  “You can’t Apparate out of here Carrow.” 

Ron noted immediately that the Aurors had obviously placed an Anti-Apparation shield on the building.  Carrow was loose, but running out of places to go, constantly popping to new locations within the building like a giant ping-pong ball because the walls and ceilings would not bend to his will. 

But Ron’s attention stayed on John’s arm and Hermione’s face.  He expected she would look fearful, but her entire body seemed to be curling in on itself, her hands knotting up and taking on the shape of claws, the color of her eyes seemed to morph to an eerie auburn, definite shades of red shining through the brown.  She looked possessed and he couldn’t help but shift his eyes back and forth between her and John, a throbbing panic building deep within his gut. 

_Dear god, what have they done to her?_  

His panic-driven lungs were on overdrive, but Ron kept his mouth clamped shut, trying to maintain a calm demeanor.  “You won’t hurt her, John.  You still have your little experiment to finish, right?”  Ron shifted right as did John, still holding her tightly with terror written all over his face.  Another crack sounded nearby and Ron noticed Kingsley and Carrow exchanging hexes. 

Hermione’s knees had apparently given out, leaving John with the added effort of dragging her hundred and twenty pound body around the room.  Maybe she was in pain.  Or, perhaps it was fear or anger?  Ron thought he heard her growl.  Her breathing had turned rough, a pant, clearly animalistic now that the room had gone quiet.  His thoughts were totally pre-occupied with the scene unfolding before him, unaware that, besides Carrow, the rest of the miscreants were bound and silenced.  Harry, Kreighton and Kingsley chased Carrow’s rebounding form around the building as Godfrey and Williams slowly flanked a very terrified looking John. 

His eyes darted back and forth between the two approaching Aurors.  “I-I will…I’ll do something bad to her.  Now, I want out of here.  You tell them to stay back,” he addressed Ron. 

“I can’t do that.”  Ron ignored the pain in his back and walked slowly toward John and his growling victim, keeping his voice calm and sure.  With an encouraging smile, Ron spoke as smoothly as possible.  “I just want Hermione.  Put her down and then we can talk.” 

“No!  You can’t have her.  She’s mine, you arrogant arsehole!  Why can’t you get it through that thick red skull?!”  John spit through the wires, glancing down at the creature in his arms that now resembled some cryptic horror-movie character.  He seemed shocked.  “What the hell’s wrong with her?” he asked, frightened by her morosely demonic appearance. 

Several more cracks and pops interrupted mixed voices coordinating themselves just yards away.  While John’s words caused a vein to pop in his neck, Ron somehow managed to retain his cool. 

“John, you have no idea what you’re dealing with.  She is very ill.  You need to put her down.  Can’t you see that she’s not well?”  He didn’t have to convince anyone else in the room for Hermione’s brows were now etched deep into her forehead.  He hated to admit it, but he was beginning to feel fear at her appearance. 

John seemed to be considering Ron’s suggested course of action, but kept shifting and watching the other men in the room.  “Arty told me you can’t use that wand on me with the restraining order, but they can.”  His hand slipped more firmly around Hermione’s throat, enough that it made Ron back off. 

Robert circled left.  John noticed, now backing into the area near the large garage door, a forklift to his right. 

Ron raised his wand, pointing it toward the ceiling.  “You’re right.  I can’t use this on you for harm.  I can use it for certain spells, but I promise not to use it at all if you’ll just put her down.  See?” 

He slipped it into his pocket, keeping his other hand up.  Truthfully, the degree of Ron’s rage was such that he would prefer a little hand to hand combat.  Even with the constant ache in his back, he was itching to pound on something.  And his chance came with another loud crack.  Carrow had Apparated right in front of John and Hermione. 

Startled, John loosened his grip and with a ferocity that shocked everyone in the room, Hermione launched herself at Carrow, teeth bared, nails clawing at anything they could reach.  Kingsley and Kreighton appeared on one side, Harry on the other and John simply fell back in shock, too frightened to move. 

Carrow wailed.  At first it was more the cry of delight at the game, but quickly turned to desperation as Hermione knocked his wand out of his hand, her jaws snapping at him with brutal rebuke.  Her nails ripped his clothing as she screamed at him wildly. 

“Holy shite!” cried Harry, who being the closest, attempted to intervene just as Carrow backhanded Hermione.   

“I should have just killed you!”  As if unfazed by his strike, she snapped at him again with the viciousness of an enraged wolf, but his time he shoved her.  “You’re worse without your magic!” 

Carrow’s blow forced her into Harry, her body uncontrollably clawing at his robes to the point that Harry had to rip his arms out of them to save himself.  Carrow, Harry and Hermione were now tangled in a three way struggle, limbs and clothing flying in all directions. 

“Get off me!” screamed Carrow as Hermione resumed her attack. 

Ron darted forward, but not before Carrow swung his leg up into Hermione’s stomach and lunged for his wand.  Harry’s robe flew into the air as Hermione crumpled to the ground with a grunt.  However, she immediately found a new target, her teeth sinking into the dark wizard’s exposed ankle with animalistic delight.  Carrow’s shriek of pain came a millisecond before the sound of shattering glass. 

The vial containing the parasite from Ron’s back slipped from Harry’s robe pocket and shattered.  But instead of a slithering insect, a haze of purple and white smoke drifted from the broken container, wafting over and then swirling with the blood that now oozed from the teeth marks on Carrow’s ankle. 

“You crazy BITCH!”  Carrow cried, pointing his wand at her as he tried to scoot away.  Harry acted quickly, throwing a paralytic at Carrow.  Unfortunately, part of it struck Hermione.  She became totally immobile, her vampiric mouth still stained with Carrow’s blood as she tipped to the floor.  Kingsley and Kreighton bound Carrow in seconds and started dragging him away, a stream of vulgarities still pouring from his wide, frozen eyes.

 “Hermione!  Shite, I’m sorry!”  Harry yelled, kneeling by her side.   

“Should I try to revive her?” he asked, raising his wand, but Ron’s hand caught his wrist with an answer. 

“No!  Remember what Parker said?  Don’t use any magic on or around her.” 

“She’s already been exposed to several spells.  Are we just going to leave her on the floor out cold?” 

“We shouldn’t do anymore.”  Ron carefully lifted the hair away from her face, his face mixed with concern, fear and rage. 

“What the hell’s wrong with her?” Harry panted. 

“I don’t know, but she’s scaring the shite out of me.”   

“I’m sorry, Ron.  I didn’t mean to hit her.” 

“I know that.  Besides, it’s probably best if she’s out until we get her home and restrained first.” 

Harry’s arm relaxed, seeing the wisdom in Ron’s words.  “You’re right.” 

“Lieutenant Potter!  We could use some help here!” called one of the Aurors.  Harry glanced at Ron, then at John who still appeared dazed, sitting on the floor.  He must have thought it was safe to leave for a quick moment as he addressed his mate.  “You alright with him?”  Ron nodded.  “Be right back.”  Harry took off around the corner. 

Ron’s eyes immediately focused suspiciously on the Muggle man sitting a few feet away.  Any regular Muggle being subjected to this amount of magical interaction would probably require mental health care.  However, Ron knew that John had some experience with the ways of their world, due to his relationship with Hermione.  This meant that his less than settled appearance had little to do with the unusual events he had just witnessed and more to do with his over-the-top obsession with Hermione.   

John’s narrow, beady eyes danced around the room, as if he wanted to run and was yet unwilling to do so without his prize.  Ron noticed the slight move toward Hermione’s paralyzed form, but wasn’t about to allow him anywhere near her.  Unfortunately, the buzzing in his pocket indicated the restraining order remained and would prevent him from harming the man.  The order wouldn’t keep him from touching the man, but any movement with malicious intent would be stopped.  Unsure if John was aware of that fact, Ron decided to put up a brave front anyway, ready to pound him to a pulp if able. 

“Stay away from her or so help me…”  This seemed to draw John’s attention away from Hermione.  It also had the unfortunate effect of inflating his previously withered courage and putting his wired jaw back to work with mumbled sentences. 

“Or what?  You can’t be near me.  The judge put a restraining order on you,” he spat, crawling closer.  “I could have you arrested and Arty told me you can’t hurt me with the order in place.  So…” he attempted to lift Hermione’s slackened arm.  “…I’ll just take my belongings and go.”   

“Your belongings?”  Harry asked, having reappeared from behind the crates.   

It was probably a good thing that his mate was speaking because Ron’s temper reached eruption point.  “Look, we’ve had just about enough of you!”  Harry pulled his wand back up, but Ron did one better by attempting to rip John’s head from his neck. 

Unfortunately, the air around Ron formed into some kind of clear, brick wall and Ron found himself halted mid-launch.  His body stuck tight in frozen motion, one arm poised to bludgeon John to a pulp, but held in mid-air akin to a Roman warrior depicted in the museum, engaging in a battle that visitor’s had to imagine.  The hatred surged through him and he felt his body leaning forward on the balls of his feet, ready to strike, but unable to do so. 

The concept of kismet flashed through Ron’s enraptured mind as John noted his suspended appearance and decided to temp his own fate anyway.  He turned his back on a very pissed-off, tethered Ron and leaned down to pick Hermione off the ground, despite Harry’s warnings to back away.  Harry had been distracted by Ron’s lurch and subsequent screeching halt, but seemed to have gathered himself, looking past the point of concern when it came to using magic in John’s presence.     

Maybe John had delusions of immortality.  Maybe some of Carrow’s insanity had rubbed off on him.  Either way, the imbecilic act of clutching Hermione’s arm triggered an assault that Voldemort himself would have shrunk from.  With the abruptness of flipping on a switch, Ron’s frozen form sailed forward.  The buzzing wand no longer vibrated and he crashed into John, fists flying in rage.  The restraining order had obviously been cancelled. 

Harry wrestled Hermione out of the melee and pulled her safely to the side of the room. 

John’s mind must have been pretty fresh from his recent beating for he kept guarding his face, but using his knees and feet to their fullest extent.  “You sick fuck!” Ron bellowed, finally grabbing John’s hair and slamming his head into the floor. 

Unlucky for Ron, John reached out and scratched his hand over Ron’s back.   

“OOOwwwww!!” he arched away, howling from the pain.   

With the truest definition of knee-jerk reactions, Ron’s knee jerked out and he kicked John right in the gut.  John crumpled, matching Ron’s moans of pain, two figures writhing around on the warehouse floor. 

Harry, who up until this point seemed afraid to use any spells for fear of hitting Ron, stunned the still moaning John, then bound him and silenced him, rushing to Ron’s side. 

“Ron!” 

“SHITE, SHITE, SHITE!!” Ron pounded the floor with his fist.  The pain seemed beyond Ron’s ability to control. 

Harry must have known better than to touch his friend.  “Don’t move, Ron.  I’ll get help.” 

Hermione started to move, free of the Stupify that held her.  It appeared she had grown progressively more agitated at the insistent tugging of her body and now literally growled at her former captor who lie immobile, his face contorted in fear.   

A few cracks later and Harry came running back to Ron’s side, a still-bruised, but concerned Ginny at his side.  She moved more slowly, still dressed in pajamas and despite the pain, Ron felt awash in guilt over the fact that she was the only one that could help him at the moment.  He could imagine his mother giving them a hard time, but having her present would be even worse.   

It seemed Harry and Ginny had been arguing, the tail end still in discussion. 

“I really think he need’s a Healer, Gin.” 

“I can handle this Harry,” she whispered with a rattle.  Ginny knelt by Ron, who stared up at her with tear-filled, tortured eyes.   

“Ginny, you shouldn’t be here.” 

“Shut up, Ron.  I shouldn’t do this, but…” she waved her wand over his back.  Ron whimpered as the pain subsided just a bit.  It still stung, but he was at least able to catch his breath, his forehead resting on the floor, both hands tightly fisted. 

Swiveling his head to the side, Ron watched Ginny crawl over to Hermione, approaching her very cautiously.   

“Be careful, Gin.” 

“You said she was hit by a Stupify?  Anything else?” she asked Harry who hovered nearby, ready to help if needed. 

“When we got here, she was being levitated.  I don’t know if they used anything else on her or not.” 

“What about physical injuries?” 

“We witnessed Carrow back hand her and then I think he kneed her in the stomach.” 

Ginny’s tone turned hesitant.  “Harry, come here.”  The command was soft, sort of beguiling. 

Harry hesitated.  Ron would have done the same based on the tone of Ginny’s voice which clearly indicated caution.  Hermione gnawed on her lower lip, blood still coating her mouth, her eyes dilated to pin points.  “I need to sedate her.  You have to hold her still.  No magic.” 

Ginny reached in her pocket and pulled out another needle.  Just as before, Ron’s eyes bulged, not liking needles any less than he had two days earlier.  Harry moved carefully around the two girls, getting behind Hermione and finally wrapping his arms around her firmly, but not too hard.  Hermione’s breathing picked up pace, but she didn’t struggle.  Ron assumed she was still recovering from the previous spell.  Slowly, Ginny pulled the plastic tip off and slipped the needle into Hermione’s thigh.  She twitched for a second, but then went limp in Harry’s arms, her eyes rolling back into her head. 

For several moments, all that could be heard were five sets of overworked lungs.  The floor nearly vibrated with the heavy thumping of hearts.  No one appeared able to move.  Luckily, Williams came back, calling out Ron and Harry’s name as he rounded the corner. 

“Hey, you blokes need any hel….” He halted mid-phrase finding the exhausted, bruised and battered quintet.  “What the hell happened here?” 

Three pairs of eyes, one green, one brown, one blue, all turned to answer Williams’ query with a simple look. 

“Looks like you need a Healer.” 

“No.”  Harry waved him off.  “We’ve had about all we can take of Healers.”  He pointed at John.  “That one needs to go to the Ministry lock up and keep him silenced until I come in.  I’ll take care of the others.” 

“You sure?” Williams asked, levitating John off the floor. 

“Yeah.  Thanks, Williams.  Good work today.  Tell all the men I said that and I’ll be in as soon as I can to handle the debriefing.” 

“Hey, you look like you could use some sleep.  Don’t worry about a thing.  We’ll take care of this one and you just get some rest.  The reports can wait until tomorrow.” 

“Thanks, mate.”  Harry half smiled. 

  


	21. Chapter 21 - For Better or For Worse

  
Author's notes:

Once again my thanks to Indie for her invaluable beta skills and to all my fabulous, insightful readers who really like to keep me on my toes!  I know you've all been dying to know what happened to Hermione.  So, here's a bit more info.  This chapter is kind of long, but I just couldn't find a better place to break it.  So, enjoy and hang in there.  I promise things will start to change for our couple pretty soon.

* * *

Chapter 21- For Better or Worse 

_When your dreams come true, you don’t question how they came to be._   

After a bit of rest and Ginny’s invaluable skills at pain management, Ron was able to move again.  The warehouse floor wasn’t all that comfortable.  With the rush of adrenaline no longer fueling his system, Ron’s scabbed over back carried enough burn to keep him immobile for a little while.  After assuring Harry that he was well enough to handle Hermione, Ron sat with a still unconscious girl in his lip.  Harry escorted a hoarse and very weary looking Ginny back home.  Hermione had been sedated and was blissfully unaware.  She looked so peaceful, curled in a ball on the floor, a far cry from the maniacal beast that shone just minutes earlier.  Most of the buttons had been ripped from Hermione’s shirt, but Ron reached over and pulled the sides of the blouse together, at least covering some of her up.  Then, still fearing the use of magic on her again, he arranged for Williams to get a taxi and some Muggle money.

 

Truthfully, his energy was draining fast, his back, tailbone and other previously infected parts burned still, but he tried to focus all his energy on getting Hermione home.  Pulling her into the backseat, Ron couldn’t help but notice the sideways glance from the driver, clearly concerned about the limp body being dragged into his cab.  He met Williams’ concerned glance for a moment before muttering a thanks and closing the door.

 

“My friend’s a little drunk,” Ron explained.  The cabbie stared straight at him, nothing spoken, one eyebrow still arched.  “One hell of a warehouse party!”  Ron smiled, hoping it would satisfy the little man.

 

During the ride, Hermione remained curled up, her head resting on Ron’s leg.  It was one of the only places not hurting.  He winced several times when the bumpy road caused his back to rub against the seat.  Finally, shifting to the side, he managed a somewhat comfortable ride.  Even sitting in the taxi, he found himself feeling more and more exhausted.  He nearly tripped twice just carrying her from the curb to the house.

 

When he finally stepped into Harry’s foyer, Hermione was beginning to come around and Ron had passed the stage of mere tiredness.  Maybe it was all the exertion.  All he knew was that either he was in dire need of vision correction or Harry’s foyer was under a spell and was moving.  “Can I get some help here!” Ron called out and a second later, Harry darted around the corner.

 

“Jezus, Ron!”  Harry ran forward and caught Hermione’s limp form as it rolled out of Ron’s slack arms.  Ron slumped to the floor a second later, just after noticing another body running toward him.

 

 “Merlin, I’m wiped.”

 

The next hour was a little fuzzy, but he knew that Healer Parker was back and talking to him.  He knew his body had been levitated up the stairs and was now lying on a nice, soft bed that felt like heaven.  And he knew Hermione was nearby based on the constant conversations that mentioned her name – usually in conjunction with his.  Mostly, he slept, only stirring when a pair of warm hands pushed his t-shirt up and began rubbing something soothing on his irritated back.

 

“ ‘Mione?”

 

“No, Ron.  It’s Ginny.  We have to get your back healed up.  Just lie still.”

 

“You shouldn’t be around me.”

 

“Shut up, Ron.”

 

“I don’t want you to get sick,” he half mumbled into his pillow beginning to fully wake up for the first time in hours.

 

“I’m taking precautions.  I’ll be fine.”

 

“Where’s Hermione?” he groaned as she slathered on another handful of potion.

 

 “She’s next door.”

 

“Is she alright?  I mean, does the Healer know why she was…you know…”

 

“Acting like a banshee?”  Ron turned one eye toward his sister in acknowledgment.  “Remember when he told us not to use magic on her?”

 

Ron caught on without needing any more explanation.  “So, now what?  Is she gonna get better?”

 

Ginny didn’t answer immediately, instead moving lower on his back, spreading more of the cooling potion.  However, her hesitation had the immediate effect of kicking his heart rate into overdrive.

 

“Ginny?”  He rolled to his side and grabbed her wrist.  “She _is_ going to get better, right?  I mean I did what I had to do.”

 

Ginny nodded, but still didn’t answer him, her eyes drifting off as if lost in thought. 

 

“Alright, that’s it.”  Ron pulled the covers back and threw his legs over the opposite side of the bed.  “I’m going to see her myself.”  Before his feet even touched the floor, the room began to swim.  “Bugger!”

 

“What?”  Ginny finally spoke, walking around to the other side of the bed and sitting beside him.

 

“I’m dizzy.”

 

“You need to stay in bed.”  She pushed his shoulder back gently and he tipped back onto the pillow, sucking air through his teeth as his back hit the bed and then rolling to this side.

 

Giving the room a moment to settle, Ron offered no argument.  With his body going haywire, there was little thought except for self-preservation.  All other considerations were pushed aside until the immediate chaos could be breached.  However, as soon as the world stopped rotating, Ron’s temper shot back to the forefront.

 

“What I need are some answers…” Ginny wouldn’t look at him, but kept tucking the blanket around him.  “…and you’re not being very talkative.”  When she finally made it around to the side of the bed where he could see her more closely, that was when he noticed the tears and scrunched up cheeks.  

 

“Gin…” he pulled her down beside him.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so…” he exhaled, unable to find the right words.  A swift guilt-slap reminded him that he wasn’t showing the type of concern that a brother should.  She’d done so much for him, even trying to defend him as he slept.  “I can’t believe I slept through it all.”  He reached over and pushed the hair back from her now yellowing neck.  “How’s it feeling?  Still hurting a lot?”

 

“It’s not that,” she replied with a sniff.

 

Ron’s eyes bulged for a second, believing her statement was an inference of something much more heinous.  “Did he do something else to you?  Did he…”

 

“No.  No, Ron.  The red marks were just a threat.”

 

“Then what is it?  Why are you crying?”

 

“Don’t you see this is all my fault?” she warbled about an octave too high.

 

“Hey…look at me.”  He reached for her chin, tipping her head to the right.  “This is not your fault.  I made the decision to do this.”

 

“But I sent you to Prague.  What was I thinking?!  I should have insisted that only half-blood Aurors or less be allowed to go.”

 

“It’s my job, Gin.”  Ron rested a reassuring hand on her leg.  “Besides, you know I wouldn’t let Harry go without me.  We’re a team.”  She finally looked at him and the sincerity and ache behind her gaze melted his heart.  “I’m going to be fine.  Just need a little rest and I’ll be good as new.”  He smiled, trying to entice the same from her.  “Now where’s my overly-optimistic little pip-squeak sister?  You know…the one that always has a smile?  The one that got back at Fred, by charming his shorts to get wet in indiscreet places every time he called her a name.”

 

That finally brought out a smile on her face.  She chuckled and Ron couldn’t help but grin back.

 

“There she is!”  Ron reached up and wiped a tear from her cheek and she followed by swiping the back of her hand over the other cheek and puffing out a breath.  “Now, let’s put all this aside for a minute and I need to know what’s going on with Hermione.  Tell me the truth.”

 

Ginny looked to be gathering her thoughts when there was a tap on the door.  It opened slowly with a head peaking around the corner.  “Ms. Weasley?”

 

“Come in Healer.”

 

Parker stepped into the room, his head snapping to catch Ginny’s blotchy face and Ron’s concern.  “I just wanted to check on my other patient.”

 

“Do you often make house calls like this?” Ron asked, still tipped on his side.

 

“Not usually, but you’re a special case.”

 

“Gee, thanks.  I always wanted to be some new science experiment.  You aren’t going to write up some medical journal about me and publish it somewhere are you?”

 

“I might.  With your permission, of course.”

 

“Of course.”  Ron raised a single brow.  “You aren’t pure-blood are you?”

 

“No, I’m not, but I keep telling Ginny here to stay away.”

 

“I did, too, but she’s as hard-headed as a Hippogriff in heat.”

 

Ginny glared at him.  “Don’t start, Ronald.  I told you I can handle this.”

 

Ron returned the same glare for a couple of seconds before continuing his conversation with Parker.  “So, Ginny was about to give me an update on Hermione.  Now you can help.  And don’t give me any crap about healer patient confidentiality or any of that smoke.  I’m in this with her about as deep as we can go.”

 

“Yes, I know.  First of all, how are you feeling?”

 

“My back is better.  Still sore, but improved.  But the room has decided to play a game of vertigo with me.”

 

“Hmmm.”

 

“What does that mean?” Ron asked, shifting to try and raise his head off the pillow, his elbow holding him up.

 

“It’s just that I’ve never seen a reaction quite as strong as yours.  Ginny did the right thing in lancing them and pulling out the parasites.”

 

“Parasites?  What do you mean?”  He saw the Healer and Ginny touch base mentally for a quick moment.

 

“You broke out in these welts, all over your back and when Ginny lanced them, she found a small worm-like parasite in each one.  She pulled them out and saved a few to test.  However, we found that they seemed to combust on their own at some point and turned to a gaseous substance.  We’re not sure about it, but we’re keeping them quarantined.”

 

“Aw, fuck.  You mean I had worms in my…”

 

“Yes, all over your back and I believe one on your tailbone.”

 

Ron pushed a massive lump down his throat, picturing anything slithering around his you-know-whats.  “And someplace else a bit lower and more personal.”

 

Ginny’s eyes grew wide and Healer Parker made a face that only a man would appreciate when it came to discussing anything on or near those delicate areas of the male anatomy.  No one seemed to want to ask the next question so Ron offered up the info.  After all, it was over and done with for him.  He’d already suffered the pain and humiliation; why not let everyone else share in the fun.

 

“Hermione lanced it.  I just didn’t know why she ran into the loo and flushed the toilet a minute later.”

 

Parker made another loud sucking noise and seemed to mentally check his package while Ginny pulled her lower lip so far into her mouth she could have bit her chin.

 

“And let me just state for the record, that neither of you are going to be putting any of that potion down there.”  Ginny nodded emphatically, her cheeks slightly flushed.  Parker chuckled and walked closer.  “So, enough of me.  What about Hermione?”

 

“She’s resting.  We had to keep her sedated for a little while.  Her nuclidite count jumped dramatically up after your bonding, and yours dropped somewhat radically, just as I had suspected.”

 

“That’s good then, right?”

 

“Yes, except that her body didn’t have time to adjust afterwards.  You see the normal human metabolism is ramped up considerably by a sudden jump like that.  When those men exposed her to such extended periods of magic, her system became overwhelmed.  Her blood sugar got all out of whack, her PH levels out of balance and well…you see the result.  Sort of like a Muggle taking hallucinogens.  She became a bit deranged.”

 

“A bit my arse!  She looked like the ghoul that used to live in my attic at the Burrow.  It was scary.”

 

“I’m sure.  It’s going to take a little while for her to get back to normal.  So, it’s probably best that we keep her sedated until her body adjusts.”

 

“How long with that be?”

 

“Not sure.  We’ll try to gradually lighten the sedation and see how she does.  All that exposure also had the effect of draining her back down to a lower level.”

 

“What?” Ron exclaimed, trying to sit up.  

 

Parker waved him back down.  “It’s not dangerous.  She’s still improved from what she was before, but not nearly as high as she needs to be to produce magic.  But, at least she can live a normal, albeit Muggle, life now.  Someone’s going to have to tell her that she might not ever get her magic back.”

 

“Well, wait, so, we have to repeat the…you know, just like you suggested with your other patients.  That will help, right?”

 

“I seem to recall you being against that.  In fact, you used some pretty harsh terms to describe that very scenario.”

 

“I know, but that was when I thought she would be…” Ron paused, looking for the right word, the one that didn’t make him sound like a disgusting louse “…unreceptive.”

 

Parker had a funny look on his face.  The kind that forced Ron to retort.  “Look, I’m not looking for a cheap thrill here.  You don’t know our history.  Hermione and I are…complicated.”

 

“I believe you.”

 

“Well, then don’t judge us when you really know nothing about it.”

 

“I’m not judging you Ron.  Whatever issues you and Ms. Granger have, that’s between the two of you.  I’m only concerned with the emotional bond that you seem to have.  It’s strong.  Otherwise she wouldn’t have shot up so dramatically.  What does concern me is the intense reaction that you’ve had in response, although Ginny has posed the idea that this could be due to the virus and not the bonding.  I’m just not sure and I don’t think it would be wise to have you repeat the process.  Even if this wasn’t from the bonding, your system is already taxed fighting this thing.  You need time for your own cells to regenerate.  Perhaps after you recover.”

 

It was the way Parker said that – it triggered a feeling of dread in Ron.  “How low am I?” 

 

“You dropped over five hundred points.  More than she gained.  That means her body was so starved that it kept trying to bond to your magic long after it had absorbed all that it was capable of.”

 

“But I did magic at the warehouse fine.” That little area at the top of Ron’s nose crinkled.

 

“You can use it, but I wouldn’t suggest it right now, or at least limit the use of magic.  You’re lucky in that you had a very high count so you could stand to lose that much and still function normally.  But I wouldn’t want you to go through that kind of drain again anytime soon.”

 

“Fine, I’ll cut back, but I want to see her.  So, can you do something so I’m not so dizzy?”

 

“We can try some Muggle medication, but again, I don’t want to use magic on you.  The dizziness could be related to the virus so we need to monitor things closely.”

 

This didn’t make him happy, but not because he might be getting sick and not because he had to take any pills.  Ron was the past the point of caring whether anything was Muggle or magical.  He had resigned himself to living as a Muggle days ago, so if he had to take some pills then so be it.  He just hated having to wait for them to work.   “Fine, but do it quick.”

 

“I’ll be back.”  Parker left the room, leaving him and a very quiet Ginny alone once again.  Ron realized that Ginny had barely moved a muscle during the entire conversation.  In fact, he did a double take when she didn’t even look to be breathing, but then she shifted subtly on the edge of the bed.

 

“You alright?” he asked, not sure if she was still upset.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine.  Just thinking about stuff.  Harry told me that Carrow nearly confessed to taking Hermione’s magic in Budapest.”

 

“Yeah, I guess so.  Everything was happening so fast, I didn’t really realize that until now, but Harry’s right.  I don’t think he clearly said Budapest, but it sounded like a confession.  He said something about ‘I should have killed you then’ or something like that.”

 

“Well, at least we know who’s to blame.  So, that’s one mystery solved.  Now I just have to figure out this virus.”  She turned, a much more determined expression on her face as she addressed him.  “I’m so close, Ron.  I know I can figure this out.  I won’t let it get you.”

 

“I know you won’t, Gin.  I trust you.  Always have, but you have to promise me that you aren’t putting yourself in danger by being around me.”

 

“I’m a medical professional.  I know what I’m doing.”

 

“Bullshite, you’re a sister first and if I know you, you’re thinking more of me and less of yourself.”

 

Ginny exchanged a look with him that confirmed his suspicions.  He knew her better than she thought and that look told him that she was wholly aware of it.  “I have to go.  Get some rest.  I’ll check on you later.”

 

Ginny left and Parker returned a few minutes later with some pills and a glass of water.  Sitting up to take them, Ron again found himself dizzy.  He swallowed them down and crashed onto the pillow, praying as the room rocked that they would work quickly.  

 

He didn’t even realize he had fallen asleep until the sound of the door latch woke him up a while later.  Yawning, he stretched in the bed, assuming Ginny had stopped in to check on him again.  However, he had the shock of his life when he his eyes opened to find a dazed looking Hermione in the midst of stripping off her nightgown.  She was completely naked sans two sock covered feet that kept shuffling toward him.

 

“ ‘Mione.  What…” but before he could ask the question, she lifted the sheets and crawled into bed with him.  Her eyes still looked glazed, her expression vacant and her breathing contained that barely audible rattle of wilderness, the same he had heard earlier in the warehouse.  She no longer carried a mouth covered in Carrow’s blood, but the somewhat ravenous tendencies came to the front almost immediately.  

 

She swung her leg over Ron’s hip, forcing him onto his still healing back and began to devour his neck and chest with a fervor.  Ron might have savored the experience under other circumstances, but something told him that Hermione wasn’t in her right mind.  She licked him like a lioness bathing a cub, full tongue lathing over his chest.

 

“’Mione,” he gripped her arms and tried to push back, but she resisted. “Sweetheart, look at me.  ‘Mione.  Love.”  She nearly swallowed his mouth whole, her hands hungrily gripping his hair, her hips grinding into him, demanding attention.  Even with a sore tailbone and a small scab on his nether regions, his boy parts had a mind of their own and were rising to the occasion despite his misgivings.

 

“Hermione!”  Ron wretched his lips away and raised his voice.  Perhaps if he tried using her whole name he could get her attention.  However, she kept at it, now latching on to a nipple, her hands slipping lower over his stomach with absolute determination and never pausing as they slid into his pajama pants.  When she finally gripped him, quite firmly, Ron couldn’t help but bolt up and take her with him.  He rolled over, grabbing both of her wrists and pressed them into the mattress.   She panted in excitement, her nipples hard against his chest, her legs crawling up his.  But still her eyes told him she wasn’t truly with him.  It was just a body yearning for more.

 

His body reacted as any young male would and he couldn’t help the groan that slipped from his lips as she pressed herself into him again.  It was enough to cloud any testosterone driven brain, but Ron tried to keep his composure.  It wouldn’t be right to give in to this, not when she truly wasn’t aware of what she was doing.  This was Hermione’s body, but not her mind, not her heart or soul and he wanted all of them.  Finally an idea struck him and he opted for his firmest, most adult sounding tone.

 

“Hermione Jean Granger!  You failed your History of Magic Test!  I’m so disappointed in you!”  He realized it sounded corny, but at this point he was willing to try anything.

 

Her lips began to warble.  “F…Fai…failed?  I…I…no…”  Her arms went limp, no longer fighting him, her eyes blinking rapidly.  “But…but I studied…I…”

 

“Hermione!”  he yelled again, but her eyes wouldn’t make contact with him.  Just when he thought she had calmed down, she screamed and started squirming with strength that he didn’t think she possessed.  Ron had her wrists firmly clasped, but her legs kicked wildly.

 

Harry and Ginny must have heard the commotion, for he heard thundering on the steps and the door flew open a second later.

 

Harry barreled in, wand drawn.  “What the hell…”  And then he saw Ron sitting on top of a naked, writhing Hermione.  Ron met his eyes, but noticed him look at the out-of-control woman below him and then immediately glance away.

 

“Christ, Ron!”

 

Ron screamed back.  “She’s off her rocker again.  You have to help me!”

 

Harry looked back at her and Ron felt a fresh dose of jealous rage roar up in his chest.  “Well, you don’t have to _look_ at her!”

 

“I can’t help you and _not_ look at her!”  Harry countered, putting his wand away and turning his gaze toward the foot of the bed.

 

Ginny had a similarly shocked look on her face.  “I’ll find Healer Parker.”  She turned and ran from the room.

 

“Fuck me!” Hermione screamed, her first real sentence, arching her body forcefully into Ron and then growling and grunting as she fought to get free of his grip.  Another series of unintelligible words flew from her mouth, several lewd and very sexual references slipping in here and there as she shook her head wildly on the pillow.

 

Ron knew that Harry had to be as floored as he was at hearing such things come out of Hermione’s mouth.

 

“Try to hold her legs before she kicks me!” Ron commanded, but just as Harry made a move toward the bed, one of her hands slipped free of his grip.  With an almost non-human speed, she had that hand back inside Ron’s pants and wrapped around his partial erection.

 

“No!” Ron screamed, trying to jump off of her.  “Get her off me!”  Hermione bolted up as Ron tried to crawl back.

 

Harry sprung into action, doing what Ron instructed, but not with a lot of thought.  He simply wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled.  Ron let go of her wrist immediately, moving to protect the goods that she was attempting to pinch off as if about to eat a bundle of grapes.

 

While Harry wrenched her naked body off the bed, she continued kicking and screaming,  her fingers trying to claw her way back through the air toward Ron.  “Arrr!  I need you…now!  Now!”

 

“Be careful!” Ron bellowed, scrambling off the bed, trying to grab her legs.

 

“I’m trying!  She’s naked, there’s nothing to grab!” Harry cried back, getting hit in the face more than once by either her head or an elbow flailing about.  “Ow!”

 

“Hold her!  Don’t hurt her!”  Ron held his hands up defensively, finally getting control of her legs.

 

“Hurt _her?_   Christ she’s strong!”  Harry grunted, his nose now bleeding as he struggled to hold her torso.

 

Parker came barreling through the door, Ginny right behind.  He had a needle in his hand and as soon as he saw the scene, he ran to Hermione’s side.  Slipping off the protective cap on the needle he shot it into her thigh and pushed the plunger down.  All four of them fell to the floor, Ginny gaping at the scene from the doorway.

 

“NO!  NO! NOOOOOO!!” Hermione shrieked, still fighting with all her might.  But then just seconds later, her legs went still, her shoulders slumped and her eyes rolled back into her head as she slumped against Harry.

 

There were no sounds except heavy breathing for about a second.  Ron pulled the blanket from the bed and threw it over her.  Harry quickly released his hands from around her naked torso and slid back on the floor, carefully laying Hermione’s head on the carpet.  The three men, and Ginny, all stared at the once-again peaceful body on the floor.  Harry finally reached up to take a swipe at his bleeding nose and this spurred Ginny into action.

 

“Harry, come here.”  She knelt down beside him.  “Lay down.”  Harry tipped back onto the carpet and Ginny gently felt along the bridge of his nose.

 

“What the hell happened?” Ron panted, staring at Parker for answers.  

 

“I’m not sure.  I thought she’d be better by now.  We need to get her back in bed.”  Parker slipped his hands under her arms and Ron took her legs, lifting her cautiously onto the bed.  “I’ll be back in a minute.”

 

Meanwhile, Ginny escorted Harry out of the room having stopped his nose-bleed, but encouraging him to change clothes.

 

Hermione released a sigh and wiggled her head into the pillow.  Ron walked over to pick up her discarded nightshirt and sat down on the edge of the bed, his heart still ticking at an abnormally fast pace.  Stretching the neck opening wide, he pulled it over her head and then one at a time managed to slip her arms in, finally pulling it down over her chest.  Staring at her, he wasn’t sure what to do next, but the impulse to be near her seemed to override everything else and he lifted the blanket and climbed in beside her, his arm wrapping lovingly around her waist.  Beast or beauty, he cared not, just that she was alive.

 

***

 

Thursday gave way to the new moon and a brilliant set of stars Friday morning.  The same new moon that Hermione had bet she would never live to see.  The Potter home fell silent, Harry crashed on the couch after having lamented at Ginny’s injuries due to his lack of vigilance.  Ginny slumped over a dining room table full of test reports after skipping dinner to focus on a cure of her ailing brother.  Healer Parker dozed in a large chair in the library, wanting to be near his patients, and upstairs, a sedated witch and an ill wizard slept together unwilling and unable to stay away from each other anymore. 

Hermione experienced some of the strangest dreams of her life: disturbing and very vivid.  When she woke, it was with a startled hitch.  Dawn was struggling to bring sobering daylight into the still dark, moonless sky.  It was difficult to see and Hermione rolled to her side, trying to get her bearings.  Instead, her momentum stopped when she encountered something soft, warm and snoring.  At first, her heart did a little flutter, panicked at the thought of finding herself in bed with someone else.  

_What happened? Warehouse…I was in a warehouse and then I was hanging in the air.  John was there.  John!_

Instantaneous panic filled her.  She tried to pull away from the warm body that had an arm wrapped around her.  It held tight and horrible suggestions danced in her head as she did a mental inventory of her body.  Nothing felt odd ‘down there’ but she had a general ache all over as if coated in a dozen little bruises.  The last thing she recalled was John’s voice telling the men to be careful because she belonged to him and now she was in bed with a man who wouldn’t let her go.   

_Oh, my god.  What did I do?_  

Her thoughts raced, searching her brain for any memory, any image of his face, his voice, but nothing became clear.  Suddenly she heard someone telling her that she had failed her History of Magic test and then flashes of her own voice begging someone to do some really lewd things…no…she wouldn’t say that.  She had to doubt her own memories, for she knew herself and such words would not be spoken by Hermione Granger. 

Carefully, she tried to tug herself away once again, but this time a mumbled voice came along with the tightening of the arm.   

“ ‘Mione.” She knew that voice.  More than that, she knew that only one person called her by that shortened version of her name.  Even her parents called her by her given name.  She rolled back toward the voice, squinting to try and make out his face in the newly created morning light.  The pitter-patter in her heart took new form. 

The early morning hours slipped by as Ron held her close in his sleep.  The ink sky changed to gray and then to a soft orange as the morning progressed and Hermione cherished every moment, watching Ron’s light ginger lashes and dotted freckles appear in the light.  Strange memories and blurred visions of screaming obscenities continued to flash back and her leg was sore, but overall she felt so comfortable and relaxed at the moment.  She gently stroked the hair from Ron’s face, trying not to wake him, but desperate to touch him.  She had no idea how she ended up in bed with him, but it didn’t matter.  When your dreams come true, you don’t question how they came to be. 

Finally, when her bladder would no longer allow her to stay, she managed to wriggle free of Ron’s grip.  He rolled to his back, grunted and immediately flipped over to his stomach and Hermione slipped off the edge of the bed.  Now she recognized the room in Harry’s house.  Shuffling into the bathroom, she kept trying to remember the past twenty four hours or even what day it was.  After relieving herself, she tossed on a robe that she found hanging on a hook in the bathroom and wandered downstairs. 

The more awake she became, the more she realized that she was actually hungry.  That had to be a good sign.  Padding through the hallway, she walked toward the kitchen, glancing into the dining room on the way.  Ginny’s head rested on the tabletop, her cheek smooshed against the cherry stained table, a soft snore blowing through her slightly opened mouth.  Hermione walked up and gently pinched the fabric on her sleeve, giving it a tug. 

“Ginny,” she whispered. 

To her surprise, Ginny jerked and sat up with a semi-conscious, shocked look on her face.  Hermione gave her a few seconds to wake up and recognize her surroundings. 

“Hermione?”  She blinked a couple of times.  “You’re up?” 

“Yeah.” 

“How do you feel?” 

“I’m kind of hungry so I came down to see what I could find to eat.” 

“Hungry,” Ginny’s yawn overtook her and she almost appeared embarrassed that her body demonstrated such weariness when her friend stood in front of her.  “Sorry…long night.” 

“Looks like it.  Where’s everyone else?” 

“Um…not sure.”  She yawned again, trying to escape her chair, but finding it didn’t want to slide very easily.  It was at that moment that Hermione noticed the bruises on Ginny’s neck. 

“What happened?” 

“Long story.  You were in this warehouse…”  Ginny stood up. 

“No, what happened to _you_?  Your neck?  I was so worried when John pulled me out of here…” 

“Oh…that.  Um…those are from Carrow.” 

“Carrow?  Which one?  I thought they were in Azkaban?”  Hermione asked following Ginny into the kitchen. 

“Not them…you know…Artimus, their little brother.  John’s friend.”  Ginny shook the tea kettle 

“John’s friend?” Hermione put a hand on Ginny’s arm.  “Wait…you mean his cousin?  You mean his cousin Arty is Artimus Carrow?” 

“Yeah.  You didn’t know that?”   

Hermione dropped her arm with a sickening grunt and wandered over to the stool behind the island counter.  “I had no idea.  How could I not figure that out?” 

“You haven’t been well.”  Ginny sat a cup in front of Hermione and slid her palm on top of Hermione’s hand.  “In fact, I’m surprised to find you up.  You had quite a day.  Scared us all to death.  How are you feeling now?” 

“Kind of sore all over.” 

With that, a yawning Harry wandered into the kitchen, rubbing his already messy hair, white socks, denims and a grey sweatshirt hanging off his body.  He took one look at Hermione and quickly darted away, his cheeks turning just a shade rosier.  “Mornin’ ” he mumbled and walked past the two ladies, stopping to peck Ginny on the cheek before grabbing a mug from the counter. 

Hermione wasn’t sure what was going on, but something felt uneasy in her stomach.  She watched him, waiting for him to turn around again so that she could hopefully check his response a second time. 

“Are you feeling better?” he asked, his back still to her. 

“A little.” 

When he turned back, she got the same cold-shoulder.  He was avoiding eye contact at all costs, slipping into a seat two down from her and keeping his head down and eyes focused on the swirling tea. 

“What’s going on?”  She looked to Ginny first who seemed to opt for breakfast duties as a cover story for her own lack of eye contact.  “Harry, why won’t you look at me?” 

Harry turned his head and smiled, but it wasn’t in his eyes at the moment.  “I’m looking at you, see?” 

“Look, I’m having a hard time remembering what happened.  I’m not even sure what day this is and I wake up to find Ron in bed with me.”  Two sets of eyes grew wide for a second, but turned away.  “So, if there’s something I’m missing, I would appreciate it if you could fill me in.” 

The kitchen became even more crowded when Healer Parker walked in as well.  “Do I smell tea?” 

Ginny pointed toward the stove and the mugs that hung on the rack beside it.  Parker rubbed his face, yawned and grabbed another cup, leaning against the counter as he blew on the hot liquid.  Even with his casual attitude, everyone knew he was checking Hermione out with great interest.  “So, how’s our patient today?” 

“A little confused and not getting many answers.” 

Parker licked his lips, took one glance at Harry and sipped his tea like he was sucking up courage.  “That’s just because he’s embarrassed.” 

“Over what?” 

“You don’t remember, huh?” 

“Will someone please tell me what happened?”  Hermione was getting really annoyed at this point.  If someone didn’t speak up she was going to scream.  

The Floo erupted and a voice cried out “Hello!”  Hermione knew that voice nearly as well as her own.  Clearly Ginny did as well because she replied even before seeing who it was.   

“We’re in here, Mum.” 

Molly appeared in the doorway, her face warm, but concerned.  Hermione noted how the Weasley matriarch’s eyes darted to her immediately.  “Oh, Hermione dear!”  She strode over, arms open wide and Hermione knew what was coming.  “I’m so glad to see you up and about.  I’ve been so worried.  Your mother told me you were very ill and I promised her I’d come and check on you this morning.  She said she tried to stop by yesterday, but no one was home.”  She wrapped her tightly and gave a firm but gentle squeeze before pushing back.  “How are you feeling?” 

“I’m better Mrs. Weasley.” 

“Oh, that’s wonderful news.  You look so thin!  Hasn’t Ginny been feeding you?”  Hermione couldn’t help but notice the two Weasley women connecting eyes for a second.   

“Yes, of course.  I just haven’t been very hungry.” 

“Oh, lovely.  Well then, how about some breakfast?  I think we can all do better on full stomachs.”  Molly trotted off to the kitchen.   

Ginny watched per pass, rolled her eyes subtly and looked back to Hermione.  “It’s Friday by the way.”  

Within minutes Ginny put a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of Hermione, Molly loading up more plates in the kitchen.  “You said you were hungry, right?”  

“I’m starving, thank you.”  Hermione poked a fork full of eggs and swallowed them down.  “Ginny, don’t worry about your mum’s comments.  You’ve taken wonderful care of me.” 

“Thanks.” 

“But that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook about explaining what’s been going on.” 

“Where’s Ronald?” Molly asked, walking to the table with a large plate of bacon.  “He usually Apparates from miles away at the smell of bacon cooking.” 

“Actually, Mum, he’s asleep.  Had a long couple of days and he wanted a bit of a lie in.” 

“Oh, well, maybe I should take him some breakfast.” 

“No!  I mean, I’ll do it.  You don’t need to climb all those stairs, besides I have to run up and get dressed.” 

After everyone had eaten, Harry cleared dishes and Healer Parker began a stool-side examination of his patient, running several wand tests over Hermione as Molly looked on, anxiously gnawing on a thumb nail.  Ginny took the tray of food upstairs to check on Ron and get dressed. 

Hermione sighed as Parker finished his last swipe.  “I told you, I’m fine.  Kind of achy, but nothing that’s going to keep me down.” 

She wanted to ask him more, dying to know if the transfer worked, but she didn’t want to discuss it in front of Molly and walked over to her.  “Mrs. Weasley, I was wondering if you could do me a favor?” 

“Of course, dear.” 

“I left my pink sweater at the Burrow last week when I came for dinner.  Have you seen it there?  It’s my favorite and it keeps me so warm.” 

“Do you remember where you left it?” 

“No, I’m sorry, but I’m nearly positive it’s there.” 

“Well, I’ll go take a look.  I’m sure it will turn up.”  Molly headed for the fireplace with purpose. 

Hermione waited until she heard the Floo activate before turning back to Parker.  “So, did it work?” 

“Well…”  Parker started. 

The doorbell rang, once again interrupting Hermione’s quest for knowledge again.  Harry wandered off to get it, stopping to pull his wand from his pocket on the way.   

“Yes and no.”  Parker replied. 

A moment later, two male voices were heard talking and Auror Kreighton walked into the kitchen.  Hermione recognized him and also noted how he was staring at her with that same distracted, embarrassed look as everyone else. 

“Miss Granger.”  He nodded to her.  “I’m glad that you weren’t hurt.  Are you feeling better?” 

Hermione was getting tired of that question, but did her best to respond politely.  “Yes, I’m fine.  Thank you.” 

Ginny wandered back into the kitchen, dressed in denims and a yellow blouse just as an owl appeared at the kitchen window.  Still listening to the conversation in the room, she sauntered over and took the note, fed the owl a treat and it took off. 

“Auror Kreighton just brought us a lovely set of subpoenas.  Carrow is going to be brought before the Wizengamot in one week and we’re all summoned to appear.”  Harry started passing out the documents, one to each of them.  “So, Kreighton, tell them again what you told me.”  Harry prompted. 

“Oh, um…the Muggle man, Mr. Rasmussen, is being interrogated.  They aren’t sure what to do with him because with him being a Muggle, they can’t just arrest him and try him under magical law.  Then they thought of using an Obliviate, but he’s also needed as a witness.  We think he knows a lot about Carrow, but… Um…he keeps asking for you Ms. Granger.” 

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”  Hermione offered, her dislike of the man shining through like the sun. 

“He says he wants to cooperate, but that he has to talk to you first.  He won’t tell us anything unless he gets to see you.” 

“Well, I don’t want to be anywhere near him!”  Hermione pulled her robe a bit tighter around her chest. 

“Yes, ma’am.  It’s just that Colonel Shacklebolt asked me to come here and ask if you would agree to talk to him.  As a favor for the Colonel.”  Kreighton swallowed waiting for an answer, but then seemed to remember he had more to his message.  “Oh, but only if you feel up to it, of course.”  

Ginny’s eyes darted between Hermione, Harry, Parker and Kreighton and appeared to decide to push the subject along after scanning her subpoena.  “Healer?  Is she well enough to leave the house now?”   

“Her ph levels appear normal now, blood sugar is fine.  I think she could go out for a little while as long as she doesn’t overdo it.”  Parker slammed back the last of his tea and put the cup in the sink. 

Hermione thought about it.  As much as she didn’t want to be near John, she knew it was her duty to help the prosecution.  Besides, she had about a million and one questions for John and a strong urge to slug him as well.  “Fine.  I’ll go and see him.  Let me go and get dressed.” 

“Oh, um…Ms. Granger?” Kreighton interrupted.  “I’m really glad we found out who’s responsible and I know we’ll bring him in.”   

“What do you mean?” 

Harry stepped up.  “He means that Carrow all but confessed to being the one who cursed you in Budapest.  You see, in the warehouse, he tried to use a very dangerous, outlawed curse on me and it’s the same one he tried on me at your flat.  I looked it up and its main function is to strip a witch or wizard of their magic.  It was initially developed years ago for use in mental hospitals and prisons for witches or wizards who had a tendency to emit uncontrolled magic due to rage or mental illness.  The prison guards would use it on them.” 

“Sort of like castrating a rapist.”  Hermione muttered and all the men in the room darted looks at each other. 

“Yeah, I suppose.  It’s been out of use for a long time, stricken from the books, outlawed.  It was difficult to find.  Anyway, in the warehouse, Carrow said that he _should_ have killed you.  Should.  So that infers that he did something else and if you put two and two together, well…” 

“Oh, my…”  Hermione sat down, absorbing everything Harry had just told her.  “What was the exact spell?” 

“I’d rather not say it out loud, but I’ll tell you later if you want to look into it more.” 

Kreighton took a hesitant step forward.  “I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn before.” Kreigton asked. 

She puffed out a breath.  “No, no, I’m glad you told me.  I needed to know.  And now, I need to get dressed and go see John.”  She got up, took a few steps and turned back.  “So, if my magic is back, can I at least turn him into a toad?” 

“NO!” came a combined answer from everyone in the room, most of the men appearing a bit terrified.  “No magic yet, Hermione,” Parker reiterated. 

***  

It seemed that everyone had something to do and the room began a slow evacuation.  Hermione started back up the stairs to get dressed.  Parker excused himself, saying he was going to check on Ron one more time – and escort Hermione up the steps - and then head back to his place for a shower.  Kreighton chatted with Harry for a moment before leaving for the Ministry.  Molly reappeared, draping Hermione’s sweater over a chair and then rushed out saying she had errands to run.  Meanwhile, Ginny opened the note from the recent owl post and suddenly rushed into the foyer just as Harry said goodbye to Kreighton. 

“Harry!  The lab…it’s opened!  Miranda says someone came forward with a large donation and we’re back in business!”  Her eyes lit up with enthusiasm and Harry couldn’t help but smile back. 

“That’s great, Gin.” 

“I’ve got to get my stuff together and go in!  I have another idea I want to try.”  She kissed him on the lips, just a quickie, and ran off to gather her things. 

“I’m heading in to the office, but I’ll be back around lunch if I can.”  Harry shouted after her, smiling to himself at the red swinging ponytail that trailed behind her. 

***  

After ensuring Hermione got back down the stairs after getting dressed, Parker decided to check on his other patient.  He tapped lightly, unsure if Ron was still sleeping and slowly turned the knob, poking his head around the corner.   

“Ron?” he whispered. 

“Hmm.” Ron mumbled, rolling on his pillow, not actually awake. 

Parker walked in quietly and decided to check Ron’s back while he slept.  As gently as he could, he lifted the t-shirt off his back, a tic-tac-toe board of scabs across his freckled skin.  It appeared he had accidentally scratched some of them off and those were a bit more red, but overall, he was healing fairly well.  What concerned him more was his body temperature which, based on the thin sheen of sweat that coated his skin, was up.  Parker checked it and indeed, it was up to 101.4.  He ran a cooling spell, made a mental note to whip up some fever potion, checked his pulse and blood pressure and was about to leave when he heard another mumble. 

“Healer?” 

He turned back.  “Hmm?” 

“Where’s Hermione?  Is she alright?” 

“She’s doing better.  Acting like herself.  Came down for breakfast today so that’s good news.” 

Ron tried to push up from his pillow, but quickly sank back.  “Maybe I should go down and see her.  We need to talk.” 

“I think it’s best if you just rest.  You have a fever, but I used a cooling spell.  I’ll get you some potion in a bit.  So, it’s best if you just rest and drink some water.” 

“But we really need to talk.” 

“You can talk later.  She left for the Ministry to go and visit Mr. Rasmussen.  She’ll be back later.” 

“What?” he exclaimed, sitting up more.  “Why did she go to see him?” 

“I heard he was asking for her.  Wanted to talk to her.” 

“But…” Ron collapsed back to his pillow. 

“Ron, she’ll be back later.  Don’t worry.  You just sleep.” 

Parker left, but Ron’s thoughts kept him awake.  Even with his body demanding rest, his chest felt heavy with worry and confusion. 

_Why did she go back to him? She knows what he can do.  He’s dangerous!_  

After everything that had occurred, how could she want to see him?  With the recent events, he was sure that he and Hermione were connecting again.  Surely there was a reason for her to see him, but Ron didn’t want her anywhere near him.  He was a lying, manipulative bastard.  Again, he tried to sit up, but his joints all felt like gelatin and he tipped back over, his brain throbbing against his skull.  Maybe he’d just sleep for a little while and then go and see her. 

***  

Harry made it into the office and was nearly lambasted by a fuming Lola. 

“Lieutenant Potter!” she marched up, her face contorted so that she looked somewhat like she had just eaten a lemon. 

“Yes?”  Harry braced himself. 

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to demand that you fire Ms. Granger.  This is ridiculous!  She hasn’t worked a single day since she was hired.  We aren’t running a free-for-all here!” 

“Ms. Dunkirk.  I have tried to calmly explain to you that Ms. Granger has been very ill, but you seem to ignore that fact.” 

“I’m not unsympathetic to Ms. Granger’s plight, Lieutenant.  But we have a media relations nightmare on our hands and no one to handle it!  There are rumors running rampant about a former Death Eater on the loose, terrorizing London and a deadly wizarding virus taking lives!  I can’t deal with all of the questions.  There was a line of reporters waiting for me this morning.” 

“I’m sorry about that.  Hermione would be here if she could.  Let me think and perhaps I can get someone to help you out.  Would it satisfy the wolves if we held a press conference and told them what we could?” 

Lola seemed to deflate just a little having finally unloaded.  “Perhaps.  Do we have much that we can actually tell them?” 

“I’ll speak with Auror Weasley and we’ll see what he can clear.   Then I’ll try to get with the colonel and set something up.” 

“Oh, Lieutenant, I would so appreciate that.” Lola’s annoyance turned to gratiousness now that Harry had offered help.  “Please give Ms. Granger my best for a speedy recovery.” 

“I will.”  Harry pivoted around and took off for his office, his shoulders weighed down with an additional burden.   

“Good morning, Sir,” Private Whitcomb greeted him, friendly but authoritative as he waited for Harry to be cleared.  Harry raised his arms and Whitcomb did his customary scan.  “Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, how is Ms. Granger today?” 

“She’s doing much better, Private.  I’ll tell her you asked.  I’m sure she’ll appreciate the gesture.” 

“Thank you, Sir.” 

“So, all quiet today?” 

“Actually, things got a little hectic just minutes ago.  I’m not sure what’s going on, but the colonel was yelling.” 

“Great.”  Harry frowned, nodded at Whitcomb and strode down the hall, ready to face the next challenge. 

“Colonel?” he asked, popping his head around the door jamb. 

“What!”  Shacklebolt looked up and softened.  “Oh, I’m sorry, Harry.  Come on in.  We’re having another wonderful day!”  His frustration shone through. 

Harry stood hands on hips, ready to face the news.  “What’s going on?” 

“Carrow escaped.” 

“Oh, shite.  How?” 

“Never mind how.  There’s more.” 

“Alright, I’ll bite.” 

“We have a kidnapping to add to our otherwise uneventful morning.” 

“Who?” 

“This isn’t good, Harry.  Very high profile.”  Shacklebolt tossed over a piece of parchment and Harry saw the picture clipped to the top.  After having seen this particular girl just a couple days before, Harry easily recognized her. 

“Oh, shite.  I know her.” 

“You do?” 

“She’s dating Ron.” 

Shacklebolt deflated back into his seat.  “Ron’s dating Judge Randolph’s daughter?” 

Harry nodded.  “At least he was.   I think he just broke things off.” 

“Well, maybe that explains why Randolph was in such a hostile mood that day that Ron got dragged in.” 

“It’s very possible.  When was she taken?” 

“This morning.  We just got word.   Please tell me that Ron hasn’t been anywhere near her recently?  With all of his run-ins with the judge, he’ll be a suspect and I don’t need to have Ron involved in this right now.” 

“No.  He’s been at my house for the past couple of days.  He’s still quite ill.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.  I have a rookie Auror injured at St. Mungo’s as well.  Carrow somehow managed to jump him.  Our staff is stretched at the moment.  Could Ron possibly come in?  I know he’s sick, but I really could use him.” 

Harry turned and closed the door which drew a questioning look for Shacklebolt who recognized the desire for privacy.  Harry sat down in the chair as Shacklebolt waited. 

“Looks like he picked up the virus in Prague.  Ginny’s working really hard to find a cure, but…  And, as I told you before, he was tested and found to be a matching donor to help Hermione and so I had to get the order of protection dropped in order for the…um…treatment to take place.  I sort of pulled a bunch of strings and went over Judge Randolph’s head to get this fixed.” 

“That was you?”  Harry nodded.  “Randolph was livid, but didn’t know who had initiated it.” 

“I’m sorry Kingsley, I would have told you, but things were happening so fast.  We were going to lose Hermione if I didn’t get it fixed and it was the middle of the night, and…” 

“Don’t worry about it, Harry.  I would have preferred to have known about it in advance, but I can understand the circumstances.  Randolph is just one man and we’ll manage things.  Did the treatment work for Hermione?  Is she better?” 

“Yes, some.  She’s at least out of immediate danger, but she still can’t do any magic.  The healer is reviewing her options.” 

“That’s wonderful news.  We could certainly use her back here on the job.  Even without magic, she’d be invaluable.  Lola is driving me crazy.” 

“Yes, I just had a run-in with her as well.  I was thinking we could schedule a press-conference, perhaps give a little appetizer to the wolves and get them to leave us alone for a little while.” 

“The news of this kidnapping is going to be all over within an hour and with Carrow gone, well you can imagine the day we’re going to have.  Randolph is a very vocal man and he likes to throw his weight around and expects action.  We don’t have any obvious leads.  We’re hoping the kidnappers will make some demands.  Meanwhile, why don’t you and Williams head over to the judge’s home and check out the scene?  And for Merlin’s sake, _don’t_ mention anything about being involved in the protection order removal.  I need you on the job and knowing Randolph, he’ll throw you in Azkaban if he finds out you went over his head.” 

“Yes, Sir.  I’m on it.” 

Harry and Williams appeared at the judge’s home thirty minutes later and were talking to the judge and looking over a spot in the garden where Diane was supposedly taken when a brown owl appeared.  Swooping down, he dropped a letter on Randolph’s head.  The judge promptly ripped it open and began to read aloud. 

_“I have your daughter._

_Release John Rasmussen._

_I’ll owl after John is safely back with me.”_

“That’s it?” Williams asked.  “No ransom?  No other demands?  He didn’t even threaten the girl or anything.” 

“And no name.  It sounds like Carrow.” 

“Carrow?”  Randolph asked. 

“Yes, sir.  Artimus Carrow, younger brother to the two known Death Eaters, escaped from a mental hospital in Europe about a week ago.  We took him in yesterday.  He was scheduled to go up in front of the Wizengamot next week, but he escaped this morning.” 

“We have a lunatic on the loose and he’s taken my daughter!  Why do you think this is him?” 

“It sounds like him.  He’s pretty smart not listing a name.  Who else could want John back?” 

“What does the Muggle man have to do with this?” 

“Carrow and Rasmussen are friends.” 

“We should post it out in the press.  Maybe the public will help us!” demanded Randolph. 

“Your Honor, we don’t want to create a panic.  Besides, we don’t want to share certain information with the public which might jeopardize our investigation.” 

“Well, you’ve certainly created a panic with my wife and me!”  Randolph started to pace along the garden path. 

“I’m sorry Sir.  We’ll do everything we can to get Diane back safely.” 

“You damn well better, Lieutenant.  Where’s this Rasmussen?” 

“He’s in custody at the Ministry.  Under arrest for assault amongst other things.  We can’t just release him.” 

“Sure we can.  We’ll just put a locator spell on him and after Diane is safe, we find him and arrest him again.” 

Harry and Robert exchanged looks, both thinking the same thing.  This wasn’t a good idea.  Harry realized Randolph was acting out of fear and he couldn’t blame the man, but he knew they also had a duty to Ron, Hermione and the public to keep this man off the streets.  However, he also recognized that Randolph could cause serious problems for them if they didn’t abide by his wishes. 

“Yes, sir.  I’ll get on it.  Can I keep the letter, please?  I’d like to analyze it back at the ministry.” 

Randolph handed it over.  “Getting my daughter back is all that matters, do you understand?  I want every available resource assigned to this.” 

“Yes, sir.”  Harry turned and frowned at Williams who followed him down the path. 

***  

Ginny couldn’t wait to get back to the lab.  Carrying the same box she had used to evacuate all her samples, she now bounced back down the hall with excitement.  Indeed, her exuberance wasn’t just due to the lab’s reopening, although it surely added to the excitement.  What really put her finger to the flame was the fact that she now had a lead - a hypothesis and an immense amount of motivation and determination due to her brother’s diagnosis.  She hoped that the requests for information that she sent off the day before would come in today. 

Approaching the door, she noticed the ugly, official-looking ‘closed’ sign had been replaced by a hand-written sign in bright orange script.  ‘We’re open!  Bring on the germs!’  Ginny laughed, pulling the door handle and then nudging it open with her hip as she carried the invaluable box inside. 

Miranda looked up and smile brightly from her desk.  “Welcome back!” 

“You, too!  Do we know who we have to thank for this grand re-opening?”  Ginny asked, sliding the box onto the countertop of her workstation. 

“Nope.  I’ve asked, but keep getting tight lipped responses.  Must be somebody really important, you know…protecting his or her identity and all that.  Doesn’t matter to me who it was, but I wish we could thank them.” 

“Yeah, I’d like to kiss them, but I guess I’ll just settle for finding a cure for this thing.  Any luck on your end?”  She started pulling out the items and slipping them back into the drawers, cubbies and refrigerators. 

“No.  I’ve been going over the report that Aurors Potter, Williams and Weasley submitted regarding their visit to the lab in Prague.  It reads like a horror story.  I mean unsanitary, unsupervised, who knows what biologicals could have been released into the air?” 

The smile slipped from Ginny’s face, but she kept unloading.   

“What’s wrong?” Miranda asked.  “You suddenly look like someone just killed your owl.” 

“It’s my brother, Ron.”  Miranda waited.  “He’s infected.” 

“Oh, Ginny, no!”  Miranda was out of her seat in an instant, stepping to Ginny’s side.  “Did this happen in Prague?  I read about him being pushed into the lab equipment.” 

“We think yes.” 

“That would mean we’ve found the source.  And it looks like this virus is transmittable through the blood.” 

“I assume so, yes.” 

“Well, that’s really useful information, but…Ginny…your brother…I’m…”  Miranda had the ultimate in sympathetic looks on her face and Ginny dreaded what was coming next.  She knew Miranda was a kind soul and would try to be sweet and comforting, but Ginny had finally picked her heart up from her stomach and really couldn’t deal with another round of guilt and tears.  Luckily, their moment was interrupted when the door opened. 

“Helloooo!” Mrs. Darby, Dottie to her friends, wailed her greeting like a siren, swaying through the door, her hips nearly grazing the sides.  The plump receptionist with the white pumps and bright blue floral dress smiled easily, but was also known as the eyes and ears of the hospital administrators.  Sort of the gossip collector and well-known snitch.  So, no one tended to get too chummy with her, despite her easy-going demeanor.  Ginny’s eyes grew wide, wondering if Dottie realized that she had broken into the lab that night when they met in the hall.  Either she was about to be detained, fired or welcomed back with open arms.  She wasn’t sure if she should run or smile.  She opted to instead stand very still and hope that perhaps she might appear invisible.  Alas, that wasn’t the case as Dottie made a bee-line for her. 

“Miss Weasley!  So nice to have you back with us.”  Her plump little hands with the bright pink manicure were folded together at her chest with angelic innocence.  She almost looked like a warmer, slightly plumper version of Umbridge.  That thought alone gave Ginny a chill. 

“It’s good to be back, Dottie.” 

“What do you think of this dress?” Dottie did a cute little three-sixty that did nothing but accent the fact that the dress was a little short on fabric to cover her caboose, but she still looked nice, in a friendly sort of way. 

“It’s lovely, Dottie.  You always look so nice.” 

“Oh, aren’t you just the sweetheart.”  Dottie winked.  “Soooo, is everyone hard at work?” 

Miranda flared her eyes, did a quick pivot and turned back to her desk.  In fact, everyone in the room, Martin included, focused their eyes down and looked amazingly busy. 

Ginny went back to extricating the items from her box and was surprised to turn and find Dottie right at her table.  “If there’s anything I can do for you Miss Weasley, please don’t hesitate to ask.  Would you care for some tea?” 

Ginny wasn’t sure what to think.  Dottie had always been friendly, but never went out of her way to do anything for the personnel in the lab.  She usually opted to spend her time testing the strength of the receptionist’s desk chair and maintaining her manicure.  “Um…no, but thank you.” 

“Is all your equipment in satisfactory condition?  Do you need anything replaced?  I can order new supplies if you need them.  Could I take some notes for you?” 

“No, Dottie.  I’m fine.  Thank you so much for asking.”  Then Ginny had second thoughts.  “Um…Dottie, do you happen to know who is responsible for the reopening of the lab?” 

“No.  I heard it was all hush-hush,” she grinned and her eyes waggled as if this was all very exciting.  Ginny didn’t want to push for more, but Dottie offered it up. 

“Would you like me to try and find out?” 

Aside from the slight guilt of indebtedness, Ginny couldn’t think of any reason not to let Dottie snoop.  She might have to remain a little chummy with the lady for a while longer, but that wouldn’t be so bad, right?  However, something told her not to push the issue and just let Dottie do what Dottie did best. 

“Well, I’d love to know just so that we could thank them properly, but don’t go out of your way.  Just, if you happen to hear anything, maybe you could let us know and we could send a thank you note.” 

“Sure, sure.  I’ll let you know if I hear anything.  Maybe I’ll go call my friend in administration and chat.” 

“I think right now, the best thing would be for you to go back to your desk and wait for the test results I requested.” 

“Okey-dokey!”  Dottie exclaimed.  Ginny didn’t have to look to recognize the combined eye-rolling and giggles that came from her co-workers on that last statement.  Dottie swayed back out in the hall, the door closing behind her. 

“What was _that_ all about?” Ginny asked.   “Has she ever even come _in_ the lab before?” 

“Okey-dokey?” Miranda laughed and most of the room joined in. 

Ginny soon had her table reset and began getting down to business.  She really needed those test results.  Meanwhile, she had another blood sample from Ron.  Unfortunately, Harry told her the parasite sample had been broken in the scuffle, turning to fumes.  There was little she could do about that.  So, she decided to study Parker’s previous cases in the interim.  Ron’s reaction seemed quite extreme compared to what Parker had told her of the others and it made her curious. 

Reaching into her bag, she pulled out some reports she had managed to con Parker into giving her on the two previous cases.  The first donor experienced dehydration partially due to vomiting and partially due to the fact that the transfer caused his blood sugar to rise dramatically and his body wasn’t able to cope.  The other man, the younger one, complained of a fever and a rash.  Ginny pulled out the photos, waved her wand to enlarge them so she could study the similarities between Ron’s welts and this other man.  They were very dissimilar.  Location, size, appearance – all different.  An hour had passed before she knew it. 

Ginny hadn’t even noticed that Miranda had left the room until the door opened and Miranda called out to them.  “I think we have another victim.”  She held a piece of parchment and walked numbly back to her desk.  “It looks like the virus, but this one has some other, rather odd, symptoms.  He doesn’t quite fit the mold.”  Everyone looked up and listened intently as Miranda sat on the edge of her desk reading the Healer’s report.  “Twenty year-old student.  He states that he’s pure-blood, but was having difficulty performing magic, a short-term levitation, no charms.  Originally from Prague.  That should send off warning lights right there.”  Everyone nodded.  “Moved to Amsterdam four days ago to continue his education.  Based on the severity of his weakness, the cough and respiration, he must have been exposed nearly five days ago.  There’s an accompanying police report.  The man was found lying in an alley, nearly comatose this morning.  The authorities there took him in to the Amsterdam Magic Memorial where the Healer in charge, um…Healer Jacobs, noted his appearance and,  having read some of our published reports on the virus, put him in quarantine and notified us immediately.” 

“So, maybe he was just delusional and really isn’t pure-blood or a wizard at all.”  Ginny offered. 

“Possible, but he was carrying a wand.  Um…” she scanned the report.  “He had identification and his family was contacted.  They indicate that they have a long pure-blood lineage.” 

“Then what are the odd symptoms?” Ginny asked and Miranda flipped the page, unclipping a photo and holding it up for the group to see.  “He has a large bubor-like tumor on his neck.” 

“Are we looking at a case of the plague?” Martin asked, clearly terrified at the suggestion. 

Warnings bells rang in Ginny’s head.  “Oh, Merlin.  Give me that.  Accio photograph.”  The photo flew through the air. 

“I hope not, Martin.”  Miranda replied and then caught Ginny’s expression.  “What is it?” 

“I need to go to Amsterdam.  Right now.”  Ginny began gathering her things, storing her samples. 

“Why?  What do you see?”  Miranda stood up, flustered and Ginny ran past her and pushed open the door. 

“Dottie!  I need an emergency Portkey to Amsterdam Magical Memorial.” 

“Ginny!”  Miranda called, following her out into the hallway.  “What is it?” 

“This is the same thing that appeared on Ron’s back.  I need them to lance it and see if there’s a parasite inside, but I need to see it and test it myself.  The sample I had from Ron was destroyed.” 

“A parasite?  Alright, but what would that mean?” 

“I’m not sure, but I have a feeling it’s very important.” 

“Come right back and let us know.”  Miranda again offered that sympathetic half-smile.  Ginny nodded and marched to Dottie’s desk. 

“They’ll have it ready for you downstairs in five minutes, Ms. Weasley.”

   


	22. Chapter 22 - Retribution

  
Author's notes: Thanks again to Indie and all my totally FAB readers!!   


* * *

 Chapter 22 – Retribution 

Hermione arrived at the Ministry’s detention level, very apprehensive and yet determined to have it out with her previous captor.  Her courage and, indeed, temper, had been increasing rapidly ever since leaving Harry’s house.  Itchy fingers wanted to feel the smooth wood of her wand in hand and curse the snot out of this manipulative creep, but Parker had warned her not to attempt magic.  Her levels weren’t that high, just at squib level.  At least she felt human again.  Lying in bed for so long left her muscles weak and her frame thin, but just feeling awake and aware was an improvement from days before.  Parker promised her hair would return to normal soon.  She had slammed on a hat to cover the gray and thin spots and marched into the visitor’s room.  Auror Godfrey, whom she recognized from Ron’s recent run-in, stood guard behind a desk.   

“Miss Granger.”  Godfrey appeared startled at first, but quickly looked away, clearing his throat and shifting in his shoes.  It was the same reaction she was getting from everyone today and irritated her to no end.  His hazel eyes still shone with the same concern he had displayed when he saw her crying on Ron’s broom at dawn that morning days before.  “How nice to see you.  Are you feeling better?”     

Hermione tried to sound polite for she knew his intensions were good, but her voice rumbled in response at having to answer the same question for the hundredth time.  “I’m _fine_.” 

“Good.”  He cleared his throat.  “I assume you are here to see Mr. Rasmussen?” 

“Yes.” 

“Colonel Shacklebolt said you might be coming.”  Godfrey gestured ‘ladies first’ and opened the door behind him and then another on the right.  Hermione stepped through into a large, nearly empty room.  A utilitarian table sat in the center of the room with two wooden chairs on either side, a heavy metal door with a small window off to the side.  “If you’ll wait here, the suspect will come in through that door in a few minutes.” 

He placed a gentle hand on her lower back guiding her toward the chair. 

“Isn’t Harry going to be here?” 

“Do you want Lieutenant Potter?  I can call him if you’d rather….” 

“No.  I just thought he’d be here.” 

“He asked me to escort you in and…” 

“I don’t hear the hum of any wards,” she noticed. 

He pulled the chair out for her.  “Well, being as he’s not magical, it isn’t necessary.  We don’t usually use this room except for situations involving Muggles.  But I will imperturb the door.”  She nodded.  “Do you want me to stay in the room with you?  I’m happy to do so.” 

Hermione glanced around, taking her seat and pulling the chair up to the table.  “Um…no, I’ll be fine.”  Truth was, her panic level teetered right up there near freaking out stage, but the anger was holding it in check.  Plus, she thought herself rather foolish for being so needy.  She thought she was doing a pretty good job of hiding it, but Godfrey must have sensed her apprehension. 

“I’ll be right outside if you need me.” 

“Thank you, Auror.”  She attempted a nervous smile. 

Hermione straightened her shirt as Godfrey went out the door they had entered.  She heard the squelch indicating the door locked.  Her jaw tensed as she rehashed everything she wanted to say to this man.  Her personal agenda was filled with some rather harsh words and a fair bit of screaming, but she also knew that he was the link to finding Carrow and she had a duty to try and help withdraw this information.  Below all that, she was squelching a minor case of claustrophobic terror at the suggestion of being locked in a room with this man again.  The idea of even being pleasant with him rubbed her wrong, but she shook her shoulders to loosen them up and blew out a breath, concentrating on an amenable expression. 

The door on the far side of the room opened, another Auror walking in first followed by John.  His face lit up at seeing her, the charming facade firmly in place.  “Hey, babe!  I wasn’t sure you were coming.”  He leaned down to kiss Hermione on the cheek, but the Auror grabbed his arm and pulled him back. 

“You are not to touch her, Mr. Rasmussen.” 

“Oh, of course.  I’m so sorry.  Habit,” he waggled his eyes and smiled.   

John sat in the provided chair, his expression quickly morphed to somber.  The Auror took a couple of steps back and crossed his arms over his chest.  Hermione found herself staring at John trying to get the right words to come out of her mouth.  John, however, seemed to be full of conversation, the smile creeping back onto his face.  “So, wow, you look so much better!  Beautiful.  Amazing really.” He frowned.  “You really freaked me out with all the foul language and grunting and stuff.” 

Curiosity won out.  “What foul language and grunting are you referring to?” 

He chuckled once.  “You don’t remember?  You were like demon girl before.  I was scared to get near you for fear you might star spitting fire, but you look a lot better now.  How are you f…”  She cut him off abruptly. 

“Don’t you _dare_ ask me how I’m feeling,” Hermione fumed. 

“Um…alright.  Hermione, sweetheart, I’d really like a chance to explain….” 

She cut him off.  “Don’t call me sweetheart or babe or anything else that remotely resembles a pet name.  I’m not your pet.  My name is Hermione.  Use it.” 

John looked a little taken aback and Hermione couldn’t help but feel pleased at the reaction.  After being under his thumb for all this time, she was dying to flex her retaliatory muscles.  Besides, anger was much easier to deal with than fear.  Anger gave her an empowering feeling. 

“Very well.  I feel like you deserve an explanation, Hermione.  They’re making me out as some kind of monster, but I was only trying to help you!” 

“That’s a load of crap and you know it.”  Hermione nearly flinched at her own choice of  words, but the anger was flowing so freely, she just kept barreling along.  “I saw the lab in my flat, the vials of my blood.  You lied to me about Ron coming to visit.  You never told me he had spent the night at the hospital with me.  You lied about sneaking into my room and taking samples.  You barricaded me in my own home!  I heard what you said when you came bursting into my room.  You had no intention of helping me, you were just using me!  You stood there and let those creeps do whatever they wanted in that warehouse.  You _never_ helped.”  She stood up and screamed at him.  “You’re a BASTARD!”   

There, she had said it, and without an ounce of regret.  It felt good to say it out loud and not to keep banging it around in her head all day.  The Auror leaned toward her, ready to stop any physical interaction, but she eased back and sat down, the burst of rage finally oozing out of her system.  She never thought of herself as a threatening person, but based on the Auror’s heightened alert, she must have looked ready to tear John’s throat out.  

John’s head dipped.  “Yeah, I feel like a bastard most of the time.”  

 Awash in that rush of relief, her heart returning to normal speed, curiosity once again gripped her.  “What the hell were you doing anyway?” 

He looked truly remorseful, but after everything she had heard and seen, she knew not to trust him and his acting skills.  Still, the kind-hearted Hermione felt just a tinge of heart-strings being pulled when she looked at him and had to grind her teeth to stop.  John turned and looked at the Auror standing guard behind him and then back at Hermione. 

“Is this really necessary?” he asked, referring to the guard in the room. 

Hermione didn’t answer, but crossed her arms and sat back in the chair.  She wasn’t going to even dignify that with a response after what he had done to her. 

“Fine,” he sighed.  “If that’s how it’s going to be, you might as well know the truth.  I was using your blood to develop a serum that would turn me into a wizard.  I’ve been developing it for years,” he smirked, clearly proud of himself. 

“What?”  Hermione frowned, trying to grasp the concept.  “You can’t create a wizard, John.  We’re born this way.  It’s not some disease we come down with.” 

John’s expression twisted into something totally unrecognizable.  “Yeah, well what about the rest of us that are born into a world that reeks of cruelty and abandonment?  We have no recourse.  Why don’t we get to have a little magic in our lives?  This is all just some freakish genetic disease, but it doesn’t matter.  We should all get to benefit from it if we want.  How dare you think that you’re more special than the rest of us.  This isn’t some kind of monarchy with the high and mighty magical royalty and then the rest of us peasants left to wipe up the drool.” 

“John, what are you talking about?”  Hermione was utterly confused at both his words and demeanor.  This was not the charming-if-he-wanted-to-be, controlling John that she knew. 

“I deserve it!  Arty says so!  And I’m going to find a way to get it.  I’m so close, Hermione!  I’m ready for human testing!” 

“Human testing?  And who are you going to test it on?” 

John glanced at her and his eyes said it all. 

“Oh, no, no, no.  You were going to use me weren’t you?” 

“Originally, Arty was going to help me get volunteers.” 

_I’ll bet._  

“But then you went and lost your magic and I had the perfect before and after subject to test on!” 

“I’m not some kind of guinea pig!  You think I’m your own personal science experiment?”  That exhausted rage was back with a blush-filled fury on Hermione’s face.   

“But I’d be helping you!  You’d get your magic back!  I’d make you all better!” 

“Or you could kill me if it goes wrong.  Did you ever think of that?” 

John’s brow furrowed for a minute as if he was trying to justify the potential hazards against his own allusive desires.  “You wouldn’t die and then I’d inject myself and I’ll be a wizard, too!”  His face lit up with some kind of twisted delight, a wide grin falling in place.  “Do you know what I’d do the minute I got it?”  John’s eyes darkened, the smile still in place, but his fists clenching as he spoke.  Hermione shook her head at both his question and the way he seemed to be slipping away from reality.  “Arty showed me this really cool curse you do.  Cruciatus.  It makes the cursed person writhe in agony on the floor.  Extreme pain.”  He was still smiling and Hermione felt a chill rush down her neck.  “I’d use that one on him.  That would be so…so…”  Suddenly John’s eyes began to water up. 

Hermione wasn’t sure what to think, but she felt quite uncomfortable, her legs telling her it was time to get up and leave.  John always seemed very stable and centered, but it was becoming abundantly clear that he was suffering from some kind of mental illness.  He quickly moved into full sobs, tortured agony apparent on his face and Hermione was taken aback.  Without thinking, reacting purely on instinct, she reached out a hand and placed it on his arm.  “It’s alright, John.”  Hermione saw an opening and took it.  “It’s not your fault.  Carrow was giving you false information.  We need to make sure he gets locked up for a very long time, to keep good people like you from being manipulated like that.” 

“Arty’s my cousin.  He’s not manipulating me.” 

“How exactly are you related?” 

“What?” John gave a somewhat blank stare. 

“You said he was your cousin.  I just wanted to know how that came to be.” 

“Well…we’ve been cousins since we were young.  We made a blood oath.  Blood is thicker than water.” 

“Not in his case.  He’d turn on his own brother and sister if it would do him good and he’ll turn on you if it suits him.  You’ll take the blame for everything.” 

“He wouldn’t do that.” 

“Just three days ago he took me out of the house and Apparated to that warehouse, but did he go back for you?  No.  You showed up quite a while later.” 

John looked to be considering her words for a moment.  “He said the wards were up.” 

“They weren’t, John.  Harry didn’t fix them until later.” 

“I’m sure he had a reason.” 

“Or, did you listen how his men all ignored your wishes?  They don’t care about you, John.  They’re all in it for their own benefit.  You’re an outsider.”  Hermione patted his hand.  “He was just using you to get to me.  He’s carrying a huge chip on his shoulder.  You have to help us put him away for good.  He’s dangerous and cruel.  Do you want to be responsible for letting him get back out on the streets?  John, he’s killed people.  He took my magic away.” 

“What?”  John seemed to sober, his eyes clearing briefly. 

“Arty was the one responsible for cursing me in Budapest.  You said you wanted to help.  Now’s your chance.  You need to do the right thing and talk to Harry, tell him what Carrow has done and help us send him to prison.  He’s going to keep on hurting good people if you don’t.” 

John seemed to think about that and his face returned to a more sane appearance.  “Um…I’m really sorry he hurt your mum.” 

“What?”  The tables turned and now Hermione was the one begging for information.  “What did he do to her?” 

“We came to get you from your parent’s house.  Arty has connections and he found out that Weasley had taken you there.  I just wanted to get you back, I needed you, but Arty insisted on leaving a message for your parents so they would know who they were dealing with.  She looked like a nice mum.  Looks a bit like mine.”  

He reached across the table and stroked his fingers over her cheek.  The guard cleared his throat in warning and Hermione felt a bolt of ice shoot down her spine.  She stilled, afraid to move and yet afraid to run.   

_Don’t touch me._  

She wanted to say it, but held still for a moment longer, hoping he was about to confess something important.  His fingers rubbed a few strands of her hair and she tried to hold the guard with a hard glance.   

John’s eyes softened, almost day-dreamy.  “She had long, wavy brown hair.  I miss the feel of her hair so much.”  He leaned in closer and stared at her.  “And dark brown eyes.  She was kind and beautiful.” 

Hermione played along, realizing how her resemblance was playing into John’s psyche.  “She loved you, John.” 

“Yes, she did.”  He tipped his head, still studying her with affection written all over his face.  It was the same look that had drawn her to him initially, but she was beginning to recognize it as the sign of an unstable mind. 

“She still does, John.  And your father loved you, too.” 

“NO, HE DIDN’T!”  Belatedly, Hermione realized the error in her statement as John flew across the table, pushing Hermione and her chair over backward.  His fingers dug into the fabric of her shirt, gripping her tightly as they both tumbled to the floor.  Both doors flew open, a rush of footsteps mixing with the screams.  “HE WAS A BASTARD AND I’M GOING TO KILL HIM!”  John’s face contorted in rage, just an inch from hers.  Just as suddenly, arms were pulling him away, still struggling and red-faced.   

“Get him out of here!” shouted Godfrey. 

Hermione struggled to draw a breath.  Her lungs felt crushed after hitting and floor and having John’s weight land on top of her.  Two Aurors were wrestling with John, pulling him back. 

“No!  No, Hermione!  Please, Hermione.  I need to talk to you!  I’m sorry, I’m s…”  John cried, kicking and screaming as the two Aurors pulled him through the door.  Godfrey was at her side in an instant, trying to help her up. 

“Ms. Granger.  Are you alright?”  He righted the chair.  “Merlin, I’m sorry about that.  I should have stayed in the room.”  Wrapping a gentle hand around her arm, he helped her to sit, kneeling in front of her, his eyes bright with concern.  “Are you hurt?” 

Now that Hermione managed a breath, she took a quick mental inventory of her other body parts, her hands visibly trembling.  “I-I think I’m alright.  I just…can’t breathe.” 

“I’ll get help.”  Godfrey stood up. 

“No, no, I’ll…I’ll be fine in a minute.  Just…” 

“Ms. Granger, Auror Weasley and Lieutenant Potter will have my head if you’re hurt.”  He strode purposefully out of the room, leaving Hermione alone.  She tried to focus on slow, steady breathing and soon began to feel better.  Less than a minute had passed when the door unlatched and Godfrey entered, Harry in tow, mid-question.  “…in the lock up?” 

“Yes, Sir.  He was only on her for a second or two.  He just kind of went berserk.  I’m really sorry, Sir.” 

She smiled at Harry, trying to assure him that all was well.  It became immediately clear that Harry was having a rough day.  The little frown lines around his eyes seemed deeper than usual.  At least he wasn’t acting frantic like his subordinate. 

“You alright?” he asked quietly. 

She nodded.  “He just sort of knocked the wind out of me.” 

Harry nodded his understanding.  Godfrey had panic written all over his face. 

“Let’s get you home.”  Harry walked forward and slipped a hand underneath Hermione’s elbow as she stood, a little wobbly in the aftermath.  “Hugh, thank you for getting me.” 

“Yes, Sir, you’re welcome, Sir.  I’m so sorry Ms. Granger.”  Godfrey stepped to the side, making space for the two of them to exit. 

“Harry, I think John might need some medical help.  Maybe a psychiatrist or therapist…I mean, he looked really deranged.  I thought I had him convinced to help us nail Carrow and then he just flipped out.  I’m sorry.” 

Harry sighed.  “Don’t worry about it, Hermione.  I’ll see what I can do.  For now, you need to go home and rest.” 

***  

Ron woke feeling as if he’d never slept.  His whole body ached with fatigue and yet also felt that he needed to get up and move or he might become a symbiant with the mattress.  The sheets felt damp and Ron realized he had probably slept off a fever.  His mouth was dry.  A shower sounded like a good idea and he grabbed a nearby robe and slipped it on, shuffling to the bathroom. 

Moving through the hall, the house sounded ominously quiet.  No clang of pots and pans, no mumbled conversations or music playing - empty.  He started thinking back to his last moments of consciousness and recalled the conversation with Parker.  Hermione was going to see John. 

Ignoring the ache in his chest, Ron’s eyes darted to the door of the opposite bedroom - the guest bedroom that Hermione had been occupying.  He paused, hand ready to knock, and listened.  Nothing.  He tapped lightly and waited for a reply.  Again, nothing. 

“Hermione?” 

No answer.  Perhaps she was sleeping.  He turned the knob gently and peaked around the corner.  Empty bed.  His head drooped with a sigh and he closed the door and continued his trudge down the hall.  Turning on the shower, he slipped his robe and off and turned to see the condition of his back.  It looked worse than it felt.  Much of the soreness had gone, but he looked as if someone had sewn him together with a Muggle needle.  His mother would faint if she saw it and he was thankful that only Parker, Hermione, Ginny and Harry had seen his back.  

But he had a sneaking suspicion that Molly was aware of what had transpired.  After all she’d told him in the church that she was aware of Hermione’s need.  Could she be aware of his involvement?  Just imagining the speech he would have to endure made him shiver.  He’d learned to appreciate his mother’s uncanny abilities to disseminate information with a Legillimen’s accuracy.  She often knew of things before they happened, like how George was about to drop a snake into Percy’s underwear drawer or where to find their secret hiding place when the garden needed degnoming.  She’d certainly find out about this, if she hadn’t already. 

Standing in the shower, Ron found himself slipping back into the same depressing thoughts that had plagued him for days.  He might be on his way to meeting the grim reaper-the fatigue setting in, a crazy dark wizard was in the lock-up after terrorizing London, people were sick and dying at an alarming rate, Diane hated his guts, her father wanted him in prison, Ginny had lost her job.  But his biggest concern always cycled back around to Hermione.  Beyond her health, which was obviously in the front of everyone’s minds, Ron just wanted ten minutes alone with her.  A chance to say what was in his heart, to somehow get her firmly back in his life, even if it only ended up being for a few short days.  He’d tried to broach the subject that next day when she was rubbing the potion on his back, but his mother interrupted them and he never got to say everything he wanted.  Their one morning together had been wonderful and awful.   

He wanted it to be special, at least for her, but the whole process seemed so clinical with him remembering to do this and that and having to pretty much control her every move.  The physical release felt good, but it wasn’t making love, not in the way he wanted.  It was more just going through the mechanics, although she still felt wonderful.  Despite his youthful libido, something about the whole experience left him wanting and he suspected Hermione had been less than fulfilled by the experience herself.  Somehow that felt like a scourge on his manhood, stupid, but still present in his psyche.  His head ached with the burden of thoughts.  Maybe it was just due to the virus.  Maybe his brain was feverish and delusional. 

Toweling off, he didn’t bother to shave, but went back to his room and found a small stack of clothing folded on a chair.  Ginny must have put it there.  There were several pairs of clean boxers and socks, some soft sweatpants and a couple of t-shirts.  She had to know that regular clothing might be too rough on him, bless her.  He slipped on some clothes and decided to go downstairs and try to act human for a few hours.  Besides, he needed to owl Kingsley and take a few sick days.  He nearly chuckled to himself, realizing how he was worrying about calling in sick when any day he may just be gone.  Did it really matter? 

Just as he reached the top of the stairs, the doorbell rang.  At first he thought that he was the only person home at the moment, but then he heard the sound of footsteps crossing the foyer and immediately recognized the long, wavy brown hair.  It didn’t look as gray as it had.  Hermione peeked through the hole and then opened the door as Ron stood on the steps, overlooking the railing. 

“Hermione, sweetheart!”  Mrs. Granger entered the house, wrapping her daughter in a warm hug.   

“Mum!”   

Ron’s fingers dug into the banister a bit harder as Hermione held onto her mother tightly for what seemed like a very long time.  Part of him felt like an unwanted intruder, spying on this display of affection, but he couldn’t seem to move himself from the spot.  It felt heartwarming to watch the two of them reunite after everything that had happened in the past few days. 

They finally separated and Ron turned to head back up the stairs, feeling too much of a voyeur.   

“Ronald!”  Mrs. Granger called out.  Caught.  He turned back around. 

“Hello, Mrs. Granger.” 

Hermione’s eyes were locked on him and he had a hard time dragging his away from hers, but Mrs. Granger was quickly walking toward the bottom of the staircase and Ron felt obliged to come down.  The moment his feet hit the landing, Mrs.Granger had him wrapped in a similar embrace.  “Ronald, so good to see you!”  At least his back wasn’t killing him anymore and he reached around and patted her in response. 

“Good to see you, too.  You look better.” 

“Yes…” she gestured toward her forehead and the thin line of stitches that lay hidden underneath her hair.  “Just a few stitches, but otherwise I’m fine.  Mr. Granger sends his best as well.  You don’t look well, Ronald.” 

“I have a cold.”  He wasn’t about to divulge the seriousness of the situation, but he could feel Hermione’s worried expression. 

“Maybe you caught it from Hermione.  Oh, dear, I hope it hasn’t affected your special abilities like it did, Hermione.” 

“Mum…” Hermione interrupted with an embarrassed look. 

“No, I’m good with the…special skills…” he spun his wrist, motioning with an imaginary wand.  “Just battling a cold.” 

“Oh, well, I’m sorry to hear that.  I hope you feel better very soon.” 

“Thank you, Ma’am.” 

“I should be thanking _you_!  I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t happen to come along that day.” 

“I’m glad I was able to help.  Did you get everything sorted out with the police?” 

She smiled.  “Yes, we did what Harry told us.  They’re looking for the intruder.  I’m sure it will end up one of those ‘unsolved mysteries’ that will show up on the tele ten years from now.”   

Hermione looked a bit confused and Ron felt an explanation coming on.  Mrs. Granger wrapped her arm around his back and began steering him into the foyer.  All Ron could do was listen to his heartbeat ramp up a notch with each step that he took closer to Hermione.  “Oh, my this house is lovely!  I stopped by yesterday, but no one was home.” 

Hermione and Ron exchanged a ‘you have no idea what our day was like’ look.   

“So, how are Harry and Ginny?”  She wrapped her other arm around Hermione and they all walked in toward the parlor. 

“They’re fine, Mum, but I’m a little confused.  Ginny told me you and dad were fine.  I guess that wasn’t completely accurate.  And, why was Ron there?”  Her eyes shifted to him. 

“Well, I don’t know actually.  Why did you show up that day, Ronald?”  Mrs. Granger asked and Ron felt his heart thud loudly in his chest.  “Just stopping by to see Hermione?” 

He nodded, unable to say anything else with Mrs. Granger in the room. 

“He carried you to the house when you were sick and stayed a good portion of the night.  I think he was very worried about you.  Then, that day, you should have seen it Hermione, he searched the house, right?” she looked to Ron who nodded, “…and here I was passed out on the kitchen floor.  He helped me and then Harry and some other men in robes showed up and they helped your Dad.”  She turned her eyes to him.  “You’re very good at your job, aren’t you Ronald?” 

“I guess.”  He tried to respond, but couldn’t get away from Hermione’s gaze.  “I try.” 

“Well, I for one am so pleased to have you as Hermione’s friend and in law enforcement!  Such a noble profession.  I know you’ll always look out for my little girl.  Sweetheart, you look better, how are you feeling?”  Mrs. Granger turned her attention to her daughter and Ron casually wandered off toward the kitchen, trying to give them some time along to talk.  Besides, the way Hermione kept staring at him was causing a large lump to form in his throat. 

Ron opened the cupboards and gazed at the wide array of breakfast and lunch choices, but honestly nothing sounded good.  He just wasn’t hungry.  Noting Ginny’s little owl sitting on the perch by the back door, Ron remembered that he needed to contact Kingsley and let him know he was going to be home sick.  He scribbled out a note and gave it to the owl and slumped in a chair as he watched the little creature fly away, admiring the way it flew, wondering if he’d ever see that happen again.   

To add to his depression, the career he had built for himself was about to evaporate as well.  They’d find someone else to do it.  That was the most depressing.  Knowing that you’re just a replaceable human being, that when you’re gone from this planet, another body just takes your place.  Life goes on. 

Sure, Harry would miss him at work, but he’d keep going.  His parents and friends would think of him now and then, but they’d still get up every morning, work, eat, sleep, go about their business, with Ron in this world or without him.  So, then why was he here?  Why were any of them here in the first place?  Hermione kept hanging on, but why?  Is there a reason he should be hanging on as well? 

“Ron?” 

Her voice shook him from his thoughts and his head snapped in her direction.  Those brown eyes appeared brighter, the dark circles faded.  It would take several of his mum’s family dinners to fill out her curves, but Ron’s stomach still trilled upon seeing her. 

“Where’s your mum?” he asked. 

“Oh, she just left.  She had errands to run, but she said to tell you goodbye and to thank you again.” 

“She’s a nice lady.  I felt really bad that she was hurt.”  Ron turned his focus back to his folded hands and the tabletop they rested upon.  He didn’t have the energy to do much else. 

“I should thank you, too.  I don’t remember everything that happened, but I remember you being at the warehouse and trying to help me.” 

“You don’t have to thank me, Hermione.  You know I’ll always come for you.”  Hermione looked lost in a world of swirling emotions, the next question forming.   

“So…”  Hermione didn’t move, biting her lip in thought. 

“So?” he asked when she didn’t continue. 

“Well…” she walked over and sat down next to him.  “How did you know John had taken me from my parents?” 

“I didn’t.” 

“Then why were you _at_ my parents’ house that day?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?  I was worried about you and…” he lost his train of thought, his eyes slipping down to her lips. 

“And what?”  This time it was her turn to prompt the response.  Her fingers crawled across the table and took his hand. 

Ron swallowed down that previously formed lump.  “I was coming over to talk to you.”  Ron realized that perhaps he was about to get his ten minutes and decided to dive in, fidgeting with a thread on his sweatpants.  “I wanted you to know that I had confronted Diane and it was completely over between us.  Honestly, there never was an ‘us’ to begin with, but I made sure she knew it was over.”  He looked at her directly.  “I wanted to ask you if you would consider being with me again, if…if we could repair things.” 

Looking away briefly, Ron wondered what she was thinking and brought up his request from the day before.  “So, have you thought about it?” 

Hermione’s eyes glazed over for a second, the corners of her mouth moving from frown to smile.  “I’ve been wanting to ask you the same thing.”  Hermione squeezed his hand and he squeezed back, his eyes lighting up. 

“Really?  I mean, when I asked the other day you seemed…” 

“I know.  It just didn’t seem like the right time to talk about it.  You were so tired and sick, but I have been thinking of it a lot.”  She glanced away, obviously embarrassed.  “My homecoming didn’t work out the way I planned.  The whole reason I came back was to try and revive things with you, but then I heard you had a girlfriend and everyone made it out to seem like you were doing so well without me.  I guess I just got hurt and then I got angry and defensive and then I brought John into the whole thing because I couldn’t deal with everyone thinking I was some awkward, unwanted, lonely spinster while you were so happy.  I’m so embarrassed.” 

“Don’t be embarrassed.”  Ron turned toward her more fully, taking her other hand in his and finally got her to look at him.  “You should have just told me.  I’m your friend.  I’ll always be your friend.  It really hurt that you didn’t come and confide in me, but then I figured I deserved your rejection after the way I treated you.  I wanted you back, too.  I mean…” he swallowed, “…I want you back.  I haven’t been with all those girls, that was just George being stupid.” 

“Good ‘ole George.”  Hermione tried to chuckle, but Ron could see the moisture behind her eyes. 

“I think he’s even better than me when it comes to putting his foot in his mouth.  And I’m an expert.”  Ron smiled back, but then broke out into another coughing fit.  She stood up and patted him on the back.  He was still leaning forward, recovering from the cough as he spoke.  “Hermione, I’m…I’m not sure if I’m going to live through this.” 

“What?  Of course you will!”  She knelt down in front of him, her hands resting on the tops of his legs.  “You’re young and strong, and Ginny’s working really hard on a cure.  Only a few people have died from this you know.  It’s not one hundred percent fatal.” 

“I know, and I plan to fight it but…I just need you to know how I feel in case things go bad.” 

She took his hands.  “Hey, now you made me promise to be there for all those sunrises and look, I’m still here!  Now you have to do the same.  Do you understand?” 

A loud crack broke the moment and Harry came trotting into the kitchen.  “Hey!  Wow, look at this.  Both of you up and…” then he seemed to notice the joined hands and intimate positions.  “Sorry, am I interrupting something.” 

“Yes.” Ron said.

“No.” Hermione said, at the same time. 

Hermione pulled away and stood up.  “It’s your house, Harry.  We’re the ones intruding here.” 

“Nonsense.  You’re not intruders.  You’re both welcome to stay as long as you need to.”Harry looked like he had figured that as long as he had interrupted the conversation, he might as well push forward.  “It’s actually good that you’re both here, I need to talk to you for a minute.  Work stuff.” 

“Great timing, mate.”  Ron mumbled. 

“We can talk later.  It’s alright,” she assured Ron and he nodded. 

“Sorry,” Harry continued “but we have a mess at work and you need to be updated.” 

“I get sick and the whole department falls apart?”  Ron tried to joke, but coughed. 

“Yeah, I guess.  How are you feeling today?  Any improvement?” 

“Tired, really tired and I have this nagging cough.” 

“Hermione, you look much better.” 

“Thank you, Harry.  I have Ron to thank for that.”  She smiled at him. 

“Um…yeah, I guess so.”  Harry appeared a bit uncomfortable and Ron could only imagine what visuals might be racing through his mind.  “So, do you want the bad news, the really bad news or the terrible news?” Harry asked, back on track. 

“Oh, great.  Bad news first,” Ron said, stiffening.  “Then I have a minute to get in the mood for the really bad.” 

“Without Hermione around, Lola is going nuts with reporters.”  Hermione’s expression plummeted.  “It’s not your fault, you’ve been sick and she knows that.” 

“Do I even still have a job?” 

Harry put a hand on her shoulder.  “Yes, absolutely, as soon as you feel up to it.  Anyway, we discussed it and thought we could do a press conference and release some little tidbits to keep the reporters busy for a while, but I need to know what we can and cannot release.  I know you’ve both been away, but I don’t want to make this decision on my own.” 

“What information do you want to release?” 

“Updates on the virus, about Carrow which brings up the really bad news.”  Ron let out a deep breath and eyed Harry, waiting for it.  “He escaped very early this morning.” 

“What?  How?”  Ron nearly shouted. 

“Not sure.  They were transporting him to a better holding cell and somehow he disarmed an Auror and took off.  The Auror’s at St. Mungo’s.  Kingsley is meeting with the Auror detail, trying to get specifics.  Everyone is out on the hunt again.  Kreighton and Williams are heading it up at the moment.  I’d have you on it, obviously, but…” 

Ron nodded, another cough ending Harry’s logic.  Hermione sat stunned, her eyes wide as he continued. 

“Not only that, but he’s out wreaking havoc almost immediately.” 

“Is this the really terrible news?”  Ron asked. 

“Afraid so, mate.  He kidnapped Diane Randolph.” 

“Oh, fuck.”  Ron shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment.   

“That’s awful.”  Hermione’s mouth fell open as she watched for Ron’s reaction.   

“When?” Ron asked. 

“This morning.  Williams and I have been over there.  He took her from her home, a spot in the garden.  The judge got a ransom note.  It didn’t have his name on it, but it’s pretty obvious it was him.”  Harry pulled it out and laid it in front of them and they both leaned in to read it through quickly.   

“He wants John?”  Ron asked. 

“Yeah and Judge Randolph insists we hand him over with a locator spell and then just take him back as soon as we have Diane.” 

“You can’t do that!  He’s sick and…”  Hermione interrupted.   

Ron sensed that Hermione was curious as to his feelings about Diane and whether he would easily give John up to get Diane back, but he was already considering the magical complications involved, let alone the emotions.   

“That won’t work anyway.  With him being a Muggle, there isn’t enough magic to bind the spell to him.  Besides, Carrow knows we’ll try that.  He’d counter the spell even if we found a way to make it work.”   

“That’s what I thought, too,” added Harry. 

Hermione looked at the note, flipped it over.  “What…no demands for money or anything like that?”  Ron began coughing again. 

“Nope.  That’s it.  Just John.”   

“It’s almost as if he’s trying to hurt Ron, first taking me, then Diane.” 

“But why?  What have I ever done to him?” 

“He’s insane.  Plain and simple.  Oh, by the way, I repaired the wards.  The house should be secure, but keep the doors locked just in case.  I don’t want anyone here alone.  If I can spare an Auror, I’ll put one on security detail around the house.” 

Harry tossed some file folders onto the desk.  “I brought the info for the press with me.  You shouldn’t be at the office, Ron.  Ginny’s still not sure how the virus is transmitted and we can’t chance you giving it to anyone else.  I shouldn’t have let you come yesterday, but I knew I couldn’t keep you away,” Harry’s glance at Hermione explained it all.  “This time, though, I have to insist that you stay home.  I can’t risk you being there.” 

Ron coughed, nodded and flipped the top folder open.  “Give me and Hermione some time to look through these.  We’ll get a press release together.”  He coughed again and rubbed his head.  “Um…do we know if Diane has been harmed?”  Again, Hermione gnawed her lip ever so slightly, but Ron recognized her concern. 

“No, and I’m not keen on letting John go, not after what happened this morning.” 

“What happened this morning?”  Ron looked to both of them. 

“You didn’t tell him?” Harry asked Hermione. 

“Haven’t had a chance.”  Ron’s brows knitted more closely together.  “I went to see him in the lock up and…” 

Ron’s thoughts immediately jumped to the worst.  “Did he hurt you?”  He took Hermione’s hand before she could move away from him, needing to touch some part of her, to assure her that he was going to protect her.     

“We were talking and he kind of went berserk.  Jumped over the table and tried to throttle me.” 

“Hugh and two of the lock-up Aurors dragged him off,” Harry explained. 

“The fuckin’ bastard is really itching for an early death,” said Ron, rubbing his thumb over the top of Hermione’s hand. 

Hermione tossed him that slightly annoyed look and Ron knew the reason.  “I know, language.”  The corners of Hermione’s mouth tugged upward.  He couldn’t help the slightly warm feeling that filled him at that simple look, for he felt closer to her than he had in years. 

“Hermione thinks he may be suffering from some kind of mental illness.” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” he turned his attention back to Hermione “but he’s going to be suffering my wand if he doesn’t keep his hands off you.” 

She didn’t reply, just worried her lip a bit more. 

“If we release him, we’re putting Hermione in danger again.  You’ve heard him.  He thinks she’s his property or a pet or something.  Plus, Carrow seems to be more than willing to help him.”  Ron nodded his agreement.  “He’ll come after her and I for one don’t want to be responsible for more innocent people getting hurt in the altercation.  And if we don’t get Carrow, then John is likely to help _him_ again.  But we also have Diane Randolph’s life to consider.” 

“Will a Portkey work on a Muggle?”  Ron asked, his mind already buzzing through various options. 

“What do you mean?”  Harry sat down. 

“Could we create a Portkey and set it to activate at a later time and plant it on him?” 

“How are we going to do that?  It would have to go in a pocket or something.  What if he changes clothes?  We’d lose it.” 

Hermione interjected.  “It would have to be on something that he doesn’t take off or an item he keeps with him all the time.  Something important to him.”   

“I’ll leave it with you two for now.  I’m going to check in with Kingsley and see if there’s anything new and I’ll let you know.  Send an owl when you have something.  I’ve got to get back.”  He picked up the ransom letter.  “I’ll try to stop back later, but this could be an all-nighter.  Tell Ginny if you see her that I’ll probably be late.” 

***  

Ginny arrived in Amsterdam Magic Memorial’s courtyard, straightened herself and marched into the entrance doors.  A man stood smiling at her and extended a hand. 

“Ms. Weasley?” 

His English was accented, but clear enough.  “Yes.  Are you Healer Jacobs?” 

“Yes, I am.  I am so pleased to meet you.  Let’s walk.”  He gestured down the hall and Ginny fell into step beside him.  “I have been reading about your studies on this virus.  I’m very grateful we had this information when this patient arrived or we wouldn’t have quarantined him as we have.” 

The halls were painted pale yellow and it looked clean and efficient, but it was also clear that this was a rather old building.  The floor tiles appeared faded, but polished.  The Healers and nurses were all dressed in bright white robes and hats, a bit more old-world when it came to wizarding looks.  Jacobs steered her around a corner and opened a door that had a plaquared displayed ‘Quarantine Area – Do Not Enter’.  

They stepped through and Jacobs walked to a nearby cabinet and pulled out some white robes, a mask and boot covers.  “Put these on and then I’ll take you through the wards.” 

Ginny pulled the protective clothing over her other clothes.  “Have you touched the tumor on his back?” 

“No.  We weren’t sure what it was and then when I got your message, I told everyone to leave it until you arrived.  The patient appears to be in a great deal of pain.  We’ve had to restrain him as he wants to touch the tumor.” 

“That’s fine,” Ginny said tying the belt around her waist.  “I’m going to need a fresh blood sample, a couple of glass vials with secure tops, a scalpel and some bandages.” 

“It’s all available in the room.”  Jacobs opened another door and motioned her through, then waved his wand and the blurry air cleared indicating a shield had just dropped. 

Walking around a draped corner, a bed came into view.  The man lying on it appeared very young and tall.  He lay on his stomach, his head turned on the pillow with several days’ growth of beard covering his chin.  A nurse dabbed away at his sweaty forehead as he panted and growled, straining at the restraints that held him to the bed.  A very large red welt had erupted on his upper back. 

“Daniel, I’ve brought a specialist in from England to see you.” 

“Please help me.  It burns.  Get it off me!” the patient cried, kicking his legs against the mattress. 

“Yes, I know it burns.  I’m going to help you.  It’s going to hurt for a few seconds, but then it will be better.  I promise.  First, I need to get a blood sample from you Daniel.” 

Jacobs handed her the vials and she withdrew the ribbon of blood, capping the vial tightly and handing it back to him for safekeeping.  “Do you have tweezers?” 

The nurses nodded and walked to a nearby cabinet.  “I’m going to do this the Muggle way because I’m not sure of his nuclidite count and I don’t want to drain any magic from him by taxing his system.” 

“Nuclidite count, really?”  Jacobs asked. 

“I have another patient with similar issues.  Now, Daniel, this will hurt for a second.”  Ginny wiped the area with alcohol, took some gauze in hand and the scalpel and carefully sliced through the bubor.  Daniel screamed, his hands in fists, his back muscles tightened to the extreme.  Just as with Ron’s it oozed forth and she quickly took the tweezers expecting the same small white worm.   

“I knew it.”  Sure enough, it appeared and she pulled it out, the nurse and Jacobs both offering their own startled reactions.  “Vial, please.”  Daniel fell back limp onto the bed, a huge breath rushing out of him. 

“I think he’s passed out,” the nurse commented. 

She placed the worm inside and capped it tightly, pressing the gauze down on the bleeding cut.  “Clean it and dress it.  If you see anymore, lance them as well and pull out the parasite and dispose of it.” 

Ginny took the other vial from Jacobs and headed back out the door, removing her robes.  They spoke for a few more minutes where Ginny tried to fill him in on the similarities she had found.  Jacobs was very appreciative and promised to keep her updated on Daniel’s progress.  She returned via Portkey and rushed back to her lab at St. Mungo’s, carefully storing her samples. 

She was zeroing in it.  Her pulse seemed to throb in her chest as she hurried through several more tests.  One thing was clear, Ron’s breakout had been due to the virus, not due to his bonding with Hermione.  That was the good news.  However, none of the other patients had experienced these welts and Ginny kept struggling to find the connection between Daniel and Ron. 

“Ms. Weasley!”  Dottie came running into the room, a handful of parchment waving in the air.  “I have your test results.  They just arrived.” 

“Thank you so much, Dottie.” 

“You are most welcome.”  Dottie looked extremely pleased with herself, her lips pursed together and her cheeks squeezed into a tight smile.  “I found something else out as well.” 

Ginny stopped and turned, remembering what they had asked her to investigate.  “You found the person responsible for the lab?” 

“Well, not entirely, but my friend down in administration overheard a conversation and they said, and I quote, ‘for a man this famous and wealthy, he sure is generous as well.  It’s so nice to see him giving back to the community.  It shows he holds no grudges.’  What do you think that means?”  Dottie asked. 

“He’s famous, wealthy and doesn’t hold grudges.  Well, I guess that narrows it down a bit.  Merlin, I hope it’s not Malfoy!” 

“Oh, that would be uncomfortable, wouldn’t it?” 

“Yes, indeed.  Thank you, Dottie.” 

“Is there anything else, anything at all?” 

“No, but thank you again.”  Ginny unfolded the parchment and read the test results.  She rested Ron’s and Daniel’s tests next to them and started to compare, row by row.  Everything appeared within the same ranges, until she reached the bottom.  There it was! 

Ginny’s eyes grew wide with excitement.  “That’s it!  How could I have missed this.  It was right in front of me!”  Ginny cried out, attracting Miranda and Martin’s attention. 

“What is it, Ginny?” Martin asked, pausing with a swab in hand. 

“The patients who died from the virus had extremely high nuclidite counts.  Those who lived were lower.”  What she didn’t tell them was that Daniel and Ron’s were lower still. 

Everyone in the lab looked a bit perplexed and Ginny suddenly realized that they were not as intimate with the topic of nuclidites in the way she had become in the past weeks.  “Oh, sorry, um…nuclidites are the magical cells in the body.  They determine the level of magic in your system.  Higher counts belong to pure-bloods, etcetera.  I’ve been working with this Healer from the U.S. and I learned a lot about these cells from him.  It’s very rare that any type of regular cell interacts or binds with a nuclidite so we don’t usually involve them in our testing.” 

Martin raised an eyebrow, nodding and Miranda looked generally in awe.  Ginny stood up and started pacing in front of her table.  “So, the virus is attaching itself to the magical cells in the body.  If we can find a way to block that or to reduce the number of cells, maybe we could cure this!” 

“How in the world do we reduce the level of someone’s magic?”  Miranda asked.  “I’ve never heard of that being done.” 

“I have, just not legally.  We need to start looking for a way to temporarily reduce the cells or make them less attractive to this virus.  I have to find Healer Parker and tell him about this and then I have to get home to check on my brother and Hermione.  I’ll be back as soon as I can.”   

Miranda called out.  “Ginny, wait.”  She ran to catch her and walked with her out the door.  “I’ll walk with you.”  When they were through the shields on the floor, Miranda pulled her to the side.  “I thought you might want to know why Dottie is acting like she is.” 

“You mean all helpful and cheery?” 

“Yeah, kind of creepy in a way, isn’t it?” 

Ginny nodded. 

“Did you notice she’s only being that way with you?” asked Miranda. 

“Um…no, I guess I didn’t notice that.” 

“Well, I heard that whoever opened the lab left instructions that you, specifically,” she pointed at Ginny, “were to be treated well and that as long as you wanted to work here, you would have a job.” 

“Wow.”  And suddenly all the pieces fit.  Ginny’s eyes grew wide with realization and then squinted.  “Oh, oh, no he didn’t.” 

“Who?” Miranda asked, clearly dying to know. 

Ginny knew who, but wasn’t willing to blow his cover.  “I’ve really got to run, but I’ll talk with you later.”  Ginny stepped into the lift, three men on her mind.  One sick brother, one Healer about to be astounded by science and a third man who might have a hard time walking tomorrow morning because she planned on wearing him out tonight. 

***  

Hermione was very much in her element and not only that, she felt happier than she had in years.  Sitting at Harry’s kitchen table, she and Ron had been busy reviewing tons of information.  Even without being at the Ministry itself, Hermione considered this the best on-the-job training she could have ever hoped for and she had a wonderful trainer to boot. 

Still sporting a bathrobe and sweatpants, Ron continued to battle on and off coughing fits, but it became abundantly clear to Hermione why Ron was considered a lead Auror in the organization.  He had acquired a high level of knowledge about the procedures within the Ministry.  However, more importantly, he knew how to manipulate those processes to get the job done when it came to dealing with the numerous miscreants and low-life’s that continued to plague Britain’s wizarding population.  His connections with various members of the press, street informants and several high ranking officials gave him an insight into the transfer of knowledge that would safety and accurately leave their office.  Surprisingly, Hermione saw a little touch of Percy and Arthur’s tendencies beaming through in Ron’s skills and not in any negative way. 

Even without using her magic, Hermione felt alive.  She listened intently as Ron discussed the various options for the press release, taking notes with a scribe’s dedication.  Her skills in writing partnered with his knowledge made an excellent pairing.  She couldn’t wait to actually start her job if this is how it was going to play out day to day.  Of course, sitting next to the love of her life did add a bit more of a thrill to the activities. 

Ron appeared physically tired, but his mind crackled with energy.  Hermione’s heart soared with enthusiasm having finally confessed her sins to Ron and finding he had been suffering the same agony.  Neither one of them were wasting a minute in making up for it.  Both were all smiles, simple touches, intimate looks and nudges.  The fact that they had shared probably the most intimate of experiences only days before was certainly present, but temporarily left behind.  This felt like two teenagers teasing each other with the concept of a first kiss.  Like they were starting over, giddy with the possibilities.  Hermione tingled with excitement and intentionally moved as close to him as she could, using the sharing of documents as an excuse.  But it was apparent that Ron knew the real reason and relished her proximity, his face just inches from hers as they spoke. 

At the moment, he had paused in his explanation of prison quarantine procedures, instead opting to brush his lips over the lobe of her ear and whisper. 

“I missed you so much.” 

Hermione’s quill nearly ran off the page and she carefully placed it back in the ink well, swallowing hard before the drool ran out of her open mouth. 

His lips moved down to her neck, her collarbone and Hermione tipped her head back, willingly accepting his advances.  His tongue touched the skin at the top of her breast, then he kissed where he had touched and Hermione’s toes went numb. 

“Um…Ron.  We need to get this press release done.”  Her fingers slipped into his hair, ignoring her own demands. 

“We have most of it.”   

“You’re right.”  Hermione was about to just give in and pull Ron upstairs when he began coughing again.  This time it didn’t let up as quickly.  Watching Ron struggle to get his breath, Hermione’s concern grew.  She got him some water, but it didn’t help very much and his brow now glistened with moisture. 

“You need to lay down, Ron.”  She felt his head.  “You’re hot.” 

“I know.”  He tried to be witty, but coughed again. 

“Let’s get you in bed.”  She stood and wrapped an arm around Ron’s back.  He didn’t argue with her, but got to his feet and they started up the steps.  He tried to talk, to joke about the ‘bed’ statement, but each time the cough would break him down.   He finally slipped under the sheets and promptly rolled to his side.  Without having her magic available, Hermione did her best, finding cool wash cloths to lie on his forehead and pulling some aspirin from her bag to help with the fever. 

Finally, it appeared he was on the verge of sleep and Hermione tried to slip away, but felt his hand grab her arm. 

“Don’t go.” 

“I won’t be far.  You need to rest.” 

“I feel better with you here.  Please.” 

How could she stay away?  Hermione sat on the edge of the mattress, switched hands to hold his with one and stroke his hair with the other.  He had saved her life and now the tables were turned.  This time, his life hung in the balance and she needed to save him.  But how?  She would track down Ginny and find a way to help.  Now that she got him back, she wasn’t going to ever let him go.

 


	23. Chapter 23 - Demanding Attention

  
Author's notes: Sorry for the wait on this chapter.  My dear, dear beta was in the middle of a cross European move and I really had to give her time to get settled.  So, we're back in business now.  Thank you all for waiting and I hope you'll find this was worth it.  


* * *

Chapter 23 – Demanding Attention 

Harry got back to his office to find a stack of messages awaiting his attention.  Lola, asking for progress on the press conference; Godfrey with an update on John who, after having seen the Daily Prophet, had been screaming and begging to see Hermione again from his cell; Kingsley notifying him that the Auror whom Carrow attacked had been released from St. Mungo’s and was going home to rest; Williams with an update on Carrow sightings – not much to report; and three from Judge Randolph demanding immediate action to release John and get his daughter back. 

Wanting a bit of confirmation on his own priorities, Harry decided to pop into the colonel’s office.   His assistant spoke up before he reached the door. 

“He’s in a meeting with the Minister, Lieutenant.  I don’t expect him back for another hour or so.” 

“I can imagine,” Harry mumbled back.  “Thanks.”  He strode back to his office and decided to begin his replies, sans Kingsley.  Lola was told that Ron and Hermione were working from home and would have something for them shortly.  Williams got a note of thanks and a ‘keep looking’ and ‘this is your number one priority’ along with updating him on the latest on Diane Randolph.  With Hermione’s suggestion in mind, Harry tried to think of a way to find a Muggle psychiatrist or therapist that might be related to a witch or wizard.  He couldn’t just pull some unsuspecting doctor into the Ministry’s holding facility without breaking a million and one rules.  He had to find someone that at least knew of their existence and would be willing to help.  Another memo went to personnel with a request for a search on wizarding Muggle relatives with medical backgrounds.  Meanwhile, he had to talk to John, to figure out a way to use him to their advantage.  But he wasn’t looking forward to the visit, his own emotions over Hermione still simmering. 

“Might as well get this over with,” he told himself and left for the detention wing.  Minutes later, he stood before John’s cell, a silencing spell still raised to quiet the man’s ranting which, based on his red face, was extensive.  Godfrey stood beside him. 

“He asked if he could see the newspaper and well, we didn’t think there was any harm in that.  He already knows all about our world, obviously about Carrow and we thought he might at least be _quiet_ for a little while.  But then he started yelling again.  He keeps insisting that he has to talk to Ms. Granger.  Says he has important information and he won’t tell anyone but her.  At least that’s what it sounds like.  He’s spraying us most of the time by trying to speak with his jaw clamped shut.”  Godfrey looked at him.  “Sir, I think he’s a little nuts.” 

Harry smiled.  “Yeah, it would seem so.  Why don’t we see if we can get the Healer in here to take care of his jaw?  I have no love for the man, but I think he’d cause less trouble if we heal him.  Maybe he’d even be a little appreciative.  Can you unlock the door and drop the silencing spell?”

“Sure.”  Godfrey released the lock, his wand ready to Stun should John try to escape and Harry walked in. 

“Harry!  Oh, thank god!  I’m going bonkers in here!” John spat across the room.  “I need to see Hermione.  They won’t let me see her.”  This John appeared frustrated, perhaps a bit agitated, but completely sane.  However, despite all outward appearances, Harry doubted the truth behind that thought. 

“After what you did this morning, did you really expect them to let you?  She didn’t _have_ to come and see you this morning.  You’re a real piece of shite, you know that?” 

“It was an impulse.  I-I didn’t mean to hurt her.”  He sat down on the small cot. 

“And the other day in the flat?  Was that an impulse?” Harry was having a hard time keeping his voice down.  “You’ve hurt her, kidnapped her, violated her physically…” 

“What?  I never vio….” 

“You were taking blood from her in the middle of the night for Merlin’s sake.” 

“That’s not violating her.  You make it sound like I…you know…” 

“It’s nearly as bad.  You lied to her _and_ us, and who knows what else.  The game is up.”   

“I’m really sorry, Harry,” John appeared contrite, but Harry wasn’t falling for it.  “I got a little carried away.” 

“Carried away?” 

“I’m a little overly ambitious, that’s all.” 

“No, John, you’re just mean.” 

As if he’d never been called that before, the tiny lines between John’s eyes deepened in concern.  “I-I have some unresolved anger issues when it comes to discussions about my father.” 

“Sounds like you have a lot of issues.  Maybe you need to see someone for help with that.”  John nodded.  “Meanwhile, I just need you to know that we aren’t going to allow you to hurt her again.” 

“We?  All these ‘magic’…” he air quoted “goons?  Or you?”  John’s slightly hooded eyes and snide tone made Harry’s anger flare. 

“Look, you little prick.  You should be _happy_ it’s me standing here at the moment.  I’m somehow managing to function in an official capacity as an officer of the Ministry.  That is the _only_ thing that is keeping my temper in check at the moment.  There are others that might not be as restrained.” 

“You’re referring to Ron, aren’t you?” 

“I never said that.”   

“You think I’m scared of him, don’t you? You think this broken jaw is still fresh in my mind.”  John’s pupils dilated just a fraction, enough that Harry realized the terror behind John’s fearless front.  However, he truly didn’t want to get into a conversation about Ron at the moment and decided to get back to the point.  

“We can take care of that for you.”  Harry glanced at the window, noting the Healer and Godfrey standing at the door.  “Will you let our Healer fix your jaw?” 

“With magic?” John asked, clearly hesitant. 

“If need be, yes.  If your body accepts it.  I promise he won’t hurt you and maybe he can make it better and get the wires removed.  Our Healers take the same kind of oath as Muggle doctors.” 

“I know that.  I’m studying medicine.” 

“Well then?” 

John leered at the men in the window, but then exhaled slowly.  “Yeah, let him in.” 

Harry waved to Godfrey and stepped back into the corner of the room to watch as the Healer performed several spells, the end result being a completely healed and wire-free jaw for the prisoner.  John mumbled a ‘thanks’ – probably the only good thing he’d done in days – and Godfrey and the Healer left. 

Harry walked slowly along the perimeter of the room, hoping to give John a minute to think and him a moment to observe.  “So, Auror Godfrey indicated you asked for a newspaper.” 

“Yeah, look…” he turned and picked up the paper, waving it toward him.  “I was reading your Daily Prophet.”  He flipped it over casually.  “Catchy name by the way…and I saw the article about this virus that’s going around affecting pure-bloods.” 

“Yes?  What about it?” 

“Well…um…I think that I might be able to help.” 

“Help how?” 

“In my testing for the Wizeraserum, I…” 

“Wait, the what?” 

“Oh, that’s what I’m calling my invention.  It’s a serum to make a person a wizard.  So, I mixed Wizard, Serum and my name, Rasmussen and got Wizaraserum.  Ingenious, isn’t it?” 

Harry tried to keep from rolling his eyes, but had a hard time.  “Go on.” 

“Well, it’s just that I may have some information that would help.  I’m sure of it.” 

“And what motivation could you possibly have to help us?”  Harry asked, obviously skeptical. 

John’s eyes darted to the floor and back up.  “Getting out of this cell would be one.” 

“Oh, so you want to make some deal, is that it?”  John tossed him a look that said ‘well, wouldn’t you?’  “Fine.  What is this information?  If it’s helpful, I’ll put in a good word for you.” 

“Don’t I get a barrister or something?” 

“You want one?” 

“Probably, but I’m still not telling you.  You don’t believe me, anyway.  This is for Hermione only.  She’ll understand.  None of you get it.  I need to see Hermione.”  His voice changed from pleading to demanding.  “You have to bring her to me!” 

“I don’t _have_ to do anything, John, and you have to learn to control your temper or I’ll use _this_ on you, Muggle or not.”  Harry had pulled the wand from his pocket, knowing full well that Godfrey was already backing him up. 

“But I can help you.  I can help cure this.”  John’s calm demeanor morphed back into place. 

“Why should I believe you?  You haven’t told me a single truth since I’ve known you.” 

“Do you have a choice?  I could be the key to saving hundreds or thousands of wizard lives.  If you want to be responsible for their deaths, then it’s out of my hands.  I’ve offered to help.”  His expression radiated credulous concern, but Harry knew the pompous deceit that ran through his veins.  Still, he couldn’t ignore the possibility that John might actually have valuable information that could help Ron and many others.  He let out a deep breath, uncomfortable with his own decision, but moving forward feeling particularly protective of Hermione at the moment. 

“I’ll arrange for a barrister, look into a therapist for you and I’ll let you talk to Hermione, but you will _not_ touch her.  Is that clear?”  Harry stepped in, close enough that he could lower his voice and John would still hear everything loud and clear.  “You make one move toward her, you twitch, you blink one too many times, you even scratch your balls and I’ll stun your arse so fast you’ll piss your pants and forget who you are for a week.”  Harry whispered.  “Then I’ll give you to Ron in a nice, secure, soundproof room.”  John didn’t reply, just glared, but Harry knew the threat had done the trick.  If his own words weren’t enough to keep him in place, he was sure that the suggestion of Ron’s fist would do the trick.  It clearly rubbed John wrong to accept Harry’s threats and to seem accommodating, but Harry could have cared less.  “Do we have an understanding?” Harry asked. 

John appeared to be biting his tongue, wrestling with himself over a reply.  Harry knew he wanted to spout something back, but he was weighing the pros and cons of doing so and finding he was truly on the short end of the stick.  “Yes.”  

Harry’s eyes remained glued to John as he snapped his fingers.  Godfrey opened the door for him.  Harry backed away, knowing better than to turn his back on a caged animal.  Waiting until Godfrey reapplied the Silencing spell, certain of John’s inability to hear them, Harry turned away, finally noticing Godfrey’s frown.

 

“Sir…” Godfrey glanced confusedly down at the roll of parchment in his fist.  “I-I just received orders to release him.”

 

“Dammit.  I had a feeling this might happen.”  Godfrey appeared to be vacillating between loyalty to his boss and following the chain of command he held in his hand.  Harry felt obliged to explain.  “Judge Randolph has arranged for his release as a ransom for his daughter.”  

 

Godfrey nodded his understanding, but it was also clear he wasn’t in agreement with the order – more inclined to follow Harry’s orders.  “What do you want me to do?” 

 

“First of all, has the flat been cleared of his belongings?”

 

“Yes, Sir.  All secured.”

 

“Good.  No more deranged experiments from this one.  I’m going to get Ms. Granger and Ginny Weasley and bring them back here.  I’ll send my Patronus when we’re on our way.  I want three more Aurors standing by - the largest, scariest ones you can find.  Get Kreighton.  Don’t release the prisoner until we get back.  Create some red tape, tell them he has to have an exit interview or a physical or something, use force if you have to.  When I return, you’ll stay by Ms. Granger’s side the entire time she talks with him.  Miss Weasley and I will listen in from the observation room.  If he makes one move toward Ms. Granger, I want you to Stupify his arse into the next cell.  Don’t hold back _anything_.  Understood?”

 

Godfrey appeared a bit shocked, but sucked in a breath and stood tall in the presence of his commander.  “Yes, Sir.  You can count on me.”  

 

Harry headed straight to St. Mungo’s, determined to find Ginny and give her the news, but when he got there, Miranda told him she had left.

 

“I thought she was leaving to find you.”

 

“How long ago did she leave?”

 

“As soon as she got back from Amsterdam, she ran a few tests and got really excited and said she had to go.  I sort of got the impression she was off to find you.”

 

“She went to Amsterdam?”

 

“Yeah.”  Miranda looked somewhat guilty, like she wasn’t supposed to say anything.  “It was sort of short notice.  I guess she didn’t tell you.”

 

“Guess not.  Thanks, Miranda.  I’ll find her.”  Harry did a quick pivot and decided home was his best bet.  He might get lucky and find both Hermione and Ginny there at the same time.  Apparating into his foyer, he immediately recognized several voices resonating from the direction of the library, their conversation clearer as he approached.

 

“I have some contacts in the states that I could ask, but I don’t see how.” Parker said.

 

“That would be fantastic if you could,” Ginny replied.

 

“What do we do in the meantime?”  This question came from Hermione as Harry stopped in the archway that opened into the library.  

 

“Hey.”  Harry made his presence known and three sets of eyes all turned toward him.  No one looked particularly depressed or frantic.  In fact, all three appeared relatively pleasant.  Ron wasn’t present.  “What’s going on?”

 

“Harry!”  Ginny was in his arms before he could blink.  “Thank you!  You wonderful, wonderful man!”  She kissed him and hugged him and kissed him again.  Harry wasn’t positive why he was getting thanked, but he had a pretty strong clue that someone at St. Mungo’s wasn’t as tight-lipped as they promised.

 

“What’s this for?” he asked, trying to play coy.

 

“You know exactly what it’s for.”  Ginny beamed at him and Harry couldn’t help but smile back.  He knew time was urging him along, but seeing her like this just made him melt.  Making her happy was the reason for his existence and getting that lab reopened was the least he could do.  She kissed him again, a bit more intimately, her hands stroking up his chest.  The throat clearing from across the room brought his attention back to the fact they weren’t alone.

 

Hermione’s smile was close-lipped, but lit up her eyes.  Parker appeared amused and probably a bit more appreciative of the male reaction to Ginny’s body position.  He was a healer, but probably no more than forty-five years old, and quite fit for his age and experience.

 

Returning a smile to Parker and Hermione, Harry stepped to Ginny’s side and swung an arm around her shoulders.  His moment of joy, wonderful, but over.  “I’d like to stay and chat, but I have a situation at work.  I need Ginny and Hermione to come with me right away.”

 

“What’s going on?” asked Ginny.

 

“It’s John again.”  Harry noticed Hermione’s jaw tense again.  “He read about the virus in the Daily Prophet and claims that he can help you cure it.  Something about this serum he was working on.  He wants to make a deal.  But he refuses to talk to anyone but Hermione.”

 

A voice rasped from above.  “Over my dead body.”  Ron stood by the balcony, pale, coughing the moment he spoke, his eyes rimmed in red, a white t-shirt soaked to his skin.  He clutched the railing, stiff-armed, and bent over, a rattling cough emanating from deep in his chest.  Parker took off across the foyer and ran up the steps two at a time.  Harry found it extremely difficult not to follow, but in that fleeting second Harry realized how appreciative he was to have a Healer who was paying such personal attention to his friends and how much he needed him right now.  He’d have to thank the man more later.

 

Reaching out a hand, Harry caught Hermione by the arm as she, too, passed by Harry on her way to help.

 

“I need you to come, Hermione.  Right now.”

 

Hermione tugged at his grip, appearing annoyed.  “Let go of me, Harry.  I’m not talking to him again.  He’s nothing but a liar.”

 

“What if he isn’t lying about this?”

 

She studied him for a brief second before her eyes shot toward the balcony.  “Ron needs me here.”

 

“Parker will take care of Ron.  We have to get back quickly.  If John can truly help us cure this, then you have to talk to him.”  Harry’s stomach churned as he didn’t want Hermione near the man, but couldn’t risk not at least trying.

 

“Don’t…” Ron nearly hacked up a lung as Parker reached him.  His weary eyes pleaded with her as he struggled to get a breath, an arm wrapped around his middle.  “’Mione.  Don’t…”

 

Hermione’s brow creased even more.  Harry could feel her heart going out to the man on the balcony, but he held her in place.  Ron sank to the floor with Parker’s arm around him.  It was clear that a battle of right and wrong, courage and fear, and deep concern waged within Hermione.  Parker helped Ron up and it looked like he was coaxing his patient back into the bedroom.

 

“I’ll stay with him.  Don’t worry.”  Parker shouted from the landing just before he and Ron disappeared through a door.

 

 “I’ve arranged for additional security.  He won’t touch you, Hermione.  Ginny and I will listen from the observation room.”  Harry got her to look at him and dropped his grip.

 

The energy in the room flowed from all of them like tendrils of concern trying to reach out to Ron, to comfort him, care for him.  In that moment, no one wanted to leave, but Harry forced himself to turn.

 

“What about this mess with Diane Randolph?  Are you going to let him go?”  Hermione asked, forcing Harry back around.

 

Harry’s throat closed up.  He didn’t want to tell her and struggled to find anything he could say to soften the blow.  “I’m sorry, Hermione.  Judge Randolph put a lot of pressure on various people, and we’ve been ordered to release John which is why we need to do this now.  My men are keeping him there.  But, I can’t guarantee he’ll still be there in an hour.”

 

Hermione shook her head in undisguised revulsion, but Harry could sense her conviction as well.  She was coming with him.  “Gin, call a taxi.  You go with Hermione and I’ll meet you there.”

 

Ginny ran off to make the call.

 

“Could my life be anymore messed up?” Hermione mumbled, back to chewing on her lip.

 

Any response Harry could give would just leave one of them feeling all the more guilty.  Harry opted to try for the glass-half-full version.  “You have Ron back.”

 

“For how long?”

 

*** 

 

The twenty minute taxi ride through London proved to be as bumpy as it was nerve-wracking.  Sitting in silence, the two women exchanged worried glances on more than one occasion as the taxi wove its way toward the Ministry’s Muggle entrance.  Hermione forced the apprehension and disgust aside and decided to focus on gathering as much knowledge on the disease as possible.  The moment they exited the cab, Ginny filled her in on everything she could in the time allotted.

 

“I want to be able to ask intelligent questions, Gin, but I’m probably not going to understand much of the medical lingo.”

 

“That’s alright.  Just see if he can tell you anything about how the virus is bonding to the nuclidites.  If he doesn’t know what a nuclidite is, then just say magical cells.  Ask how he  managed to increase the count of magical cells.  Anything like that would help.”

 

“You think he’s actually created this serum of his?”

 

“I don’t think it’s possible, but at this point I’ll take any ideas I can get.”

 

“I know the judge is worried about his daughter, but they just can’t let him go like that.”

 

“Well, there’s not much you can do about that, is there?”

 

“I’ve been thinking and maybe there is.  Ron had an idea about a delayed Portkey.  I did a little research when I was at your place before.  If we could put a Portkey on him and activate it later, we could bring him back.”

 

“You can do that?”

 

“Yeah, well…technically, you’d have to do it.”  Ginny obviously noted her friend’s still lingering sadness over the inability to use her skills and appeared to puff herself up for the task.

 

Resting a hand on Hermione’s arm, Ginny spoke sympathetically.  “Don’t worry, we’ll figure out a way to get all of it back.  Look how improved you are.  It’s a miracle really.”

 

Hermione nodded at her friend’s attempt to cheer her up and tried not to let it gnaw at her.  She had a task to complete and needed to stay focused.

 

Ginny continued.  “So, what are you going to use?  Won’t Carrow check for a Portkey?  And how are you going to get John to take it?”

 

They checked for foot traffic on the side street and stepped into the phone booth that served as the public entrance to the Ministry.

 

“I believe I have something that he’ll keep very close to him, for sentimental reasons, but I need your help.  It’s probably not easy to put a Portkey on this.”  She slipped some coins into the slot.  “I’ll have to get close to him and I think Harry might object and send in the troops.  Can you keep him in check?”

 

“What are you going to do?”  Ginny asked, a certain degree of alarm in her voice.

 

“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.  Can you create the Portkey for me?”

 

“Sure, if you tell me how.  You have it with you?”

 

“Yes, but it’s going to be a little tricky.”

 

“What is it?”

 

The doors opened into the Ministry lobby.  “Follow me.  We need a piece of ribbon.”

 

*** 

 

Harry stood waiting in the cramped Detention Center’s lobby when Ginny and Hermione arrived.  A bustle of activity, or maybe inactivity, swirled within the space, a demure blonde brushing past her with a frazzled expression, and it sounded like two men in the adjoining room were in the midst of a heated discussion.

 

Motioning for Ginny to follow him, Harry whispered, “Hermione, you stay here.  Godfrey will take you in to the room in just a minute.  Ginny come with me.”

 

A set of very tall, stern looking Aurors flanked the heavy red steel door that led to the interrogation rooms.  Their black robes swung around and tucked behind the black web holsters strapped to their legs that contained wands, knives and a lot of muscle.  She didn’t know either of them and, based on their bicep size and serious expressions, opted not to make eye contact.  Another tall man in burgundy robes stood with arms folded over his similarly-broad chest by the main entrance door. His gold crest, emblazoned with a gavel, a wand and set of scales, read ‘WG’ in an ornate script – an abbreviation for the Wizengamot Guards, the court’s security detail.  He was about the same size and demeanor as the two Aurors, minus the display of weapons.  All in all, she wasn’t sure if she should feel particularly safe or scared to death by their presence.

 

Her fingers fidgeted within her pocket, the Portkey activated and ready to be passed on.  All her hopes went with it.  She tried to picture the outcome in her mind, John suddenly sailing through the air, confused, frightened and probably arriving with a hard landing in the Detention Center’s courtyard.  But, at least, he’d be back in Ministry hands, safe from Carrow and, frankly, from his own devices.  Harry promised to find him some psychiatric help.  Despite John’s past discretions, Hermione truly hoped that he could be helped.

 

Two men came barging in from the offices on the right, Godfrey at the lead, the other man unknown to her, but his older, shorter frame donning the same burgundy robes.

 

“This is ridiculous!  I have a signed order from the court!  I demand you turn him over to me right this minute!  I could have you held in contempt!” the other man argued.

 

“Sir, I have every intention of fulfilling that order, as soon as we’re done processing him for release!” Godfrey countered.

 

“What processing do you need to do?  Judge Randolph wants immediate action.  This is his daughter’s life you’re dealing with!”

 

“I understand that, sir.”  Godfrey’s eyes shot to Hermione.  “Ms. Granger, our Head of Public Relations and Communications, just needs a few moments with Mr. Rasmussen and then he should be ready to go.”

 

The man glanced inquisitively at Hermione.  “Public Relations?  What the hell does she have to do with it?  This is ludicrous!”  He took two forceful steps toward Hermione, obviously with the intent of interrogating her next.

 

Hermione tried to line up some arguments and prepare herself for the impending exchange.  However, it became perfectly clear why the two burly men were in attendance at this little gathering.  Both of them stepped up beside Hermione, nearly brushing her arms with their proximity.  The court guard stepped up in turn, his job obviously to watch out for the shorter, older man.  She froze, daring to breathe as she watched the eyes of the guard and the court representative flash back at the two large men that boxed her in.

 

“I’m sorry sir, but you are not allowed to speak to Ms. Granger,” explained Godfrey.  

 

“What the hell is this?” the shorter man demanded, his arms flailing out.  “She’s a communications official, shouldn’t she be allowed to communicate?”

 

Hermione’s first impulse was to explain, but when the guard on her left placed himself slightly in front of her, she decided to just go with the flow and step back into the shadows.  It’s not like she was looking for trouble.  Technically, she wasn’t even working.

 

Godfrey motioned toward some chairs.  “If you’ll take a seat, sir, we can get this done and Mr. Rasmussen will be all yours momentarily.”

 

The court official pointed a threatening finger at Godfrey.  “If he isn’t out here in two minutes, I’m taking him by force!” Pivoting sharply, he marched toward the door.  The court guard’s expression remained stoic, unflustered.  His eyes darted to the two other guards and then at Hermione before backing away several steps and following his charge.

 

“I’m sorry about that Ms. Granger.  Will you please follow me?” Godfrey asked, the two men stepping to the sides easily as Godfrey unlocked the door for her.

 

Walking through to the waiting room, she immediately recognized Auror Kreighton standing rigid near the door on the right.  Beside him stood another young Auror who could have easily been Kingsley’s son, same build, same look, just much younger.  The adjacent window gave a clear view into the interrogation room which was empty at the moment.  

 

She swallowed with difficulty, still practicing what she was going to say and how to get the proper information from John.  “I will be staying with you in the room this time, as will Auror Shacklebolt,” stated Godfrey.

 

Her suspicions confirmed, she couldn’t help the fact that her eyes lit up wide at the introduction.  “Are you King…I mean, the colonel’s son?”

 

“I’m his nephew, ma’am.”

 

“Oh!  Well, I’m pleased to meet you.”

 

“It is my pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

 

“Well, now that the introductions are over, we need to hurry.  He waved at the window, obviously some kind of signal and then opened the door to the interrogation room.  Godfrey stepped in first and Hermione looked at the young Shacklebolt who gestured for her to go ahead as he followed her into the room.

 

Shacklebolt stepped to the corner of the room as Godfrey pulled the chair out for Hermione.  She sat down and found Godfrey hovering over her left shoulder.  Barely two seconds passed, not even enough time for her to get in a deep breath, and the other door opened.  John walked in followed by another guard in navy robes, a Detention Center Deputy who took a wide stance directly behind him.

 

John smiled widely at her and Hermione forced herself to smile back.  She had to convince him of so many things, it would be best to appear as friendly as possible.  John glanced at all the men in the room and slipped into the chair on the opposite side of the table.

 

“So, we have a bit more company this time, huh?”

 

“It appears so,” Hermione agreed, knowing that Harry, Ginny and who knows who else stood behind the viewing wall on the right.  Launching into her first step in the plan, Hermione tried to set John at ease.  “I’m sorry if you feel uncomfortable.  It wasn’t me that requested all this, John.  Just so you know.”

 

“Oh, I know.  It was Harry.  He made that perfectly clear.  I do have to apologize for my manners before.  I um…have difficulty discussing my father sometimes and, well…my temper got the best of me.  I never meant to hurt you.  I’ll do my best to be on good behavior this time.”  He winked.

 

Ignoring the heavy thudding of her heart, she tried to radiate warmth, her hand slipping over to touch his wrist.  Godfrey cut her off, his hand landing gently on her upper arm.

 

“Ma’am, please don’t touch him.”

 

Withdrawing her hand, Hermione immediately understood the difficulties that lay ahead in transferring the Portkey.  It would certainly be a challenge if Harry had given instructions that they not touch.  She hoped Ginny would explain things to Harry in time.

 

“So…” Hermione smiled as warmly as she could.  “Harry said you wanted to talk to me again.”

 

John sort of rocked in place, not really a nod, but close enough.  Clearing his throat and shifting in the chair, Hermione got the impression he was seriously considering his next words.

 

“Did you like being a witch?”

 

That caught her by surprise, certainly far off the topic she expected.  Even more disturbing was his use of past tense, reminding Hermione once again of what she had lost.  Still, she was prepared to go along whatever path he laid out.  “Yes, very much so.”

 

“How old were you when you found out?”

 

“I didn’t really understand some of the things that happened to me when I was young.  My parents would joke and say I was their gifted child when suddenly something would move on its own or a sudden breeze would fill an otherwise still room.  I didn’t truly understand until I got my acceptance letter for school.  I was eleven.”

 

“So, you learned all this stuff pretty fast?”

 

“Relatively.”

 

“I recognized from the moment I met you that you were extremely intelligent.  That’s one of the things that attracted me to you.”  His eyes darted away.

 

Hermione decided to respond in kind; compliments never hurt.  “That’s part of what attracted me to you as well.  I’ve always admired people who apply themselves in their education.  You’re studying biology and pre-med.  It’s quite a challenge and I commend you for it.”

 

“Thanks.  But the whole reason I chose to study biology was to discover my serum.  I’ve been working on it for years.  First, I had to study the basics of human anatomy and cell structure.  I read everything I could lay my hands on.  Then Arty gave me a blood sample and I started testing, comparing, altering.  Hours upon hours of it, only to get mostly disastrous results.  Then, about two months before I met you, I had a breakthrough.  Well, and a break-out.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

John’s eyes darted to young Kingsley and then to Godfrey.  “I’d rather not say in mixed company.”

 

“They don’t understand any of this technical stuff, John.  It’s not like they’re going to run off with some trade secrets.”

 

“It’s not that.  I’m still waiting for my barrister and I don’t want to go making statements in front of officials that might land my arse in prison.”

 

“But you’ll tell me?”  Hermione almost slapped herself for that statement.  John’s piercing stare told her he was suddenly considering the possibility that she might rat on him to the Aurors.  It certainly wasn’t her intention to create distrust.  Thinking quickly, she tried to mend bridges.  “I’m touched that you trust me like that, John.  Really.”

 

That statement seemed to lessen the glare.  Besides, she knew that Harry, Ginny and who knows who else could see and hear everything through the wall in the adjoining observation room.  Now she had to get the guards to step back and realized that wouldn’t be an easy request.

 

“Auror Godfrey, could you and Auror Shacklebolt, please leave the room and take the deputy with you?”

 

“No, ma’am.  We have orders to stay with you.”

 

Hermione looked straight at John.  “What if Mr. Rasmussen agrees to be bound to the chair, would you leave the room then?”  She watched John for a sign of agreement, and he looked to Godfrey for an answer.

 

Godfrey in turn, glanced to his right.  Hermione knew he was thinking of Harry’s orders, looking to the spot he knew Harry to be standing, but he covered it by turning to look at Shacklebolt.  “Are you sure, Ms. Granger?  I have orders to keep you safe.”

 

“He won’t hurt me, will you John?”  John shook his head.  “He’s under control this time.  I need some private time with him.  Please.”

 

“You can handcuff me or whatever.  That’s fine.”  John finally offered as Godfrey continued to look uncomfortable, his eyes shifting to and fro at all the parties involved.  

 

“Fine, but I will still watch through the glass.”  Godfrey nodded to the deputy who stepped up and, with a wave of his wand, bound John’s legs to the chair.  He was about to do the same to his arms when Hermione spoke up.  

 

“No, leave his arms free.  Just make sure the chair can’t move.”

 

The deputy did as asked and stepped back.  Godfrey nodded to Shacklebolt to leave the room and then he checked the bindings once more before telling the deputy to leave the room.  He looked at John and then Hermione one last time before stepping through the door into the waiting area.  They could both see him clearly standing on the far side of the window, arms crossed, watching them intently.

 

“They probably have the room bugged anyway.  Who am I kidding?”  John offered.

 

“No, the room isn’t bugged, John.  I know that for a fact.  I work here.”  It felt good to be able to tell the truth and still know that Harry could hear everything.  John might have been an intelligent man, but he wasn’t all that brilliant about the whole concept of magic.  “And as far as I know, Godfrey doesn’t read lips.  So, it’s just you and me now.”

 

“Yeah, just like before,” John smiled that seductive, slightly menacing smile that Hermione had seen one too many times and she had to fight off a fresh round of creepy-crawlies that scurried down her arms.

 

“So, you said you had a break-through a couple of months back.  What happened?”

 

John scratched his head.  “I managed to get a monkey to test my serum on.  The guinea pigs and rabbits all survived and so I wanted to move on to something closer to human.”  He leaned his upper body a bit closer, his legs firmly stuck to the chair, arms resting on the tabletop.  “You see, I had to inject magical cells into the bloodstream and I didn’t have a readily available pool of donors standing by.”  He whispered.  “I had to steal the blood samples.  Arty had a buddy on the outside who helped me.”

 

“Oh, John.”

 

He kept his voice low, using his hands to block the side of his face from view.  “I know, probably not the wisest of decisions.  The problem came when the university discovered I was bringing in stolen blood samples.  I lost my scholarship money and no longer had use of the university’s lab.  I had to find a place to keep working and so I found this little whole in the wall.  Rent was cheap and it had plenty of space for my purposes and was definitely out of the way.  I injected the monkey.  It was a very small amount.  I didn’t want to push his magic too high to start with.  He was fine for about three days.  I was ecstatic and just waiting to see if he would give off some sign of uncontrolled magic, but then…”

 

“What?”  Hermione asked on tenterhooks, leaning in just a bit.

 

“Well, the monkey got really agitated.  It started screaming and clawing at the cage.  I couldn’t get hold of it to give it a sedative or anything and then I saw these large tumors start breaking out all over its skin.  I thought I had unleashed the plague or something!  I decided to quarantine the monkey so I locked up and came back the next morning.  The monkey was gone.”  Then John’s face brightened and he leaned in toward Hermione a bit more.  “The cage was still locked and there was blood all over the inside.”  He stared at her, waiting for comprehension.  “The monkey had used his magic to escape.  I had done it!  Don’t you see?  It worked!”  

 

Reaching down, he gripped her hand and gave it a squeeze.  Hermione tried her best to remain calm.  If she showed any kind of alarm, Harry and the troops would be back.  But, honestly, her body had just pushed a large dose of adrenaline into her system.  John seemed totally oblivious to the fact that an out-of-control, borderline magical, sick, agitated monkey was loose in public.  And she wasn’t sure if she should feel more comforted by the suggestion that he had become overly engrossed in his work and lost sight of that fact or that somewhere in his warped moral code, it meant nothing to him.  She had somehow fallen in with either a misguided genius or a deranged savant.

 

Hermione knew she had to find out more to help Ginny and managed a dry swallow.  “Wow, that’s fantastic John.”  She forced a smile, playing up to his vanity.  “I’m really impressed.”

 

He looked pleased to hear her compliment and his eyes softened as he licked his lips.  She’d seen that look before.  It used to have a somewhat seductive effect, but was now only serving to increase her panic.

 

  _Keep your cool, Hermione.  Get the info for Ginny._  

 

“So, how did you manage to increase the magical cells in the monkey?”

 

“Ah, that is the big question, isn’t it?  That’s the little item that I want to use to barter my way out of here.”

 

“You do know that it appears your little serum is now killing wizards and witches all over Europe and Great Britain?”

 

“It’s not my fault,” he shrugged.  “The monkey did it.  I never meant to kill anyone, just to give people a chance to have the magic.  And then you came along and I couldn’t believe my luck!  I had the blood samples from the inside of the cage and I was dying to compare them with some actual wizarding blood and there you were!  And then you actually lost your magic.  It was like the heavens had smiled upon me.  They gave me the perfect test case.  I had the before and after scenario, samples of both, right there for the taking.  I just had to tweak it for human use.”

 

“I wish you would have just asked for my help and not done it so…” she considered the right word, “covertly.  I probably would have willingly donated some samples.”  She knew that wasn’t true, but was a necessary lie.

 

“No, you would have left me.”  He smiled and rubbed his thumb over her hand.  “I had to be sneaky about it.  I already lost you once and I wasn’t willing to let that happen again.”  His eyes seemed to lose their focus just like earlier that day when he began to talk about his mother and Hermione decided to once again try and play off his emotions.

 

“John, you never lost me.”

 

She saw him click back to reality.  “Um…sorry…”  He shook his head, seemingly clearing the cobwebs.  “You remind me so much of my mother.  Sometimes I just start to think of her and well…I just couldn’t bear it if you left.  I have to keep you with me.”  His eyes softened again as he gazed at her.  She knew this was her moment to plant the Portkey, but was all too aware of the men watching their every move.  She needed a distraction and glanced in Ginny’s direction.

 

“What if you could always have a piece of me with you?”

 

*** 

 

The jerky motion of the lift wasn’t helping Ron’s stomach.  Perhaps it was the concoction of potions in his system that was making him queasy, but that was his own fault.  He had begged and pleaded with Parker to do something, anything to get him up and functional.  It took several minutes of him bleeding his heart out to the Healer before he finally managed to get him to agree to help.  He may have exaggerated just a bit when he said wizardkind was in mortal peril if he didn’t manage to get up and finish his research, but Ron could always excuse that as a delusional statement due to his illness.  Parker wanted to sedate him and keep him in quarantine, but in the end, he filled him with a double dose of Pepper-up potion, a cooling charm to reduce his fever, another entirely disgusting thick yellow potion that qualmed his cough and a couple of Muggle pills that he hoped would kick in after the cooling charm wore off.  It took him another ten minutes to get dressed, having to ease himself into his Auror black before wandering downstairs as casually as possible.  He just had to wait for the right moment.

 

“You look like you’re dressed for work,” Parker noted.

 

“Nah, I just like black.  It’s easy and tough looking.”

 

“You better not have plans to leave this house,” Parker replied, a threatening tone.  “I’ll be watching you.  I’m a Healer.  And I don’t take lightly to people who intentionally infect others.  You should be quarantined and don’t think I won’t do it.”

 

“I would never try to intentionally infect anyone!  And besides, I know the blood status of all my staff.”

 

“Still, you’re far too ill to go out.”  The tea began to whistle.  “You want some tea?”

 

“Sure, but I need to hit the loo first.”  He feigned a sour stomach just for good measure.

 

“You aren’t going to sneak out on me, are you?”

 

“Me?  No.  I’m far too ill,” he coughed.

 

 Parker shot him one more warning glare and walked into the kitchen.  As soon as Parker was out of sight, Ron bolted to the closet, grabbed his robes and quietly slipped out the door.  Gaining a little distance, he Apparated straight to the Ministry.  He’d apologize to Parker later.

Parker had made it clear that he was only treating the symptoms and that he wouldn’t feel good for very long.  He also warned him that when the potions wore off, he’d crash big time.  But, it didn’t matter to Ron.  He only needed enough time to get to the Ministry and stop Hermione from seeing John.  After hearing about the attack from that morning, he didn’t care how much they needed her to entice information from the man.  He was dangerous.  Period.

 

His mind was practically humming from all the medication floating through his system.  Ron could understand why this wasn’t the kind of regimen he could withstand on a regular basis.  It was almost as if he was having an out of body experience.  Besides, Parker told him it was addictive and he couldn’t stay on it for long even if he wanted to.  At least his magic was at a fairly good level.  He could manage just about any spell, even though he was warned not to.  His only worry was the increasing jitters that could impact his aim.  

 

Having not eaten in two days, Ron was certainly not at his best, but he had love and a fair amount of adrenaline on his side as the lift doors opened into the lobby.  Two possible routes lay before him, each with its own possible consequences.  To the left, Private Whitcomb stood as sentry at the entrance to Auror Headquarters.  To the right, the corridors that passed by Judge Randolph’s office.  Whitcomb seemed the less likely to land him in trouble so he stepped off the lift and turned left, trying to act as casual as possible.

 

Whitcomb snapped to attention as he approached, but appeared overly alert and concerned.  “Auror Weasley.  Thank Merlin.  They just went down the corridor, sir.”

 

“Who?”

 

“The WGs, a whole slew of them, sir.  Should I send more Aurors?”

 

Ron wasn’t sure what was going on, but he was well aware that the WGs, the Detention Deputies and Aurors interacted all the time.  They were on the same team.

 

“No, I’m sure everything is fine.”  About to leave, he had an after thought.  “Oh, Whitcomb, if a man named Parker comes through here, a healer.  He’s not cleared for access to the Detention Wing.  Hold him here and tell him I’ll be back soon.”  

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Ron turned the corner and proceeded down the corridor that led to the detention wing.  Within seconds he knew something was up.  The main door to the detention corridor, usually under round the clock guard, was opened and a lot of loud voices bled out from the other side.  Ron poked his head around the door and noticed the main door to the Detention Lobby also opened.  This wasn’t good.  Not for security and not for any poor WG who happened to be pure-blood and in his air space.

 

He closed the door behind him, making sure it was locked and then stepped cautiously through the next doorway, slipping along the wall on this right as a crowd of burgundy robed men argued with two Detention Deputies.  

 

“You either let us pass or we will arrest you!” shouted the WG in the front of the group.

 

“You don’t have the authority to arrest me and you know it.  DD’s have authority here.”  The Detention Deputy was no slouch, but was truly out-numbered.  Ron knew better than to get involved, but something told him that Hermione might just be on the other side of that same door.  According to the books, Aurors technically had authority over both the WGs and the deputies, although they rarely if ever pulled rank.  Most of the time they worked together very cooperatively, especially the Aurors and DDs.  They were friends and colleagues, but each did know his own place in the pyramid of power.  Besides, Ron ranked above most of the men present.  Pulling himself up to his full height, Ron drew his wand and approached the group.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

He was only one Auror, but his name and reputation carried a lot of weight.  Three of the WGs stepped aside and let him up to the front.

 

“We have a court order for the release of John Rasmussen and we are ordered to get him out now.”

 

“I see.”  Ron looked to the Deputy.  “And your orders?”

 

“Mr. Rasmussen is not to be released until he has finished with his exit interview which is taking place now.  I’m not to allow anyone inside, sir.”

 

The gears turned, a plan formulating.  “Let me see your order.”  Ron held his hand out toward the WG who placed the rolled up document in his hand.  “Let me through and I’ll straighten this out.”

 

The Deputy hesitated, still blocking the door, but finally released a breath and stepped to the side, addressing the head WG.  “Only Auror Weasley enters.”

 

“Fine,” the WG responded, clearly frustrated and hoping Ron’s influence would resolve the issue.

 

The deputy waved his wand, releasing the door and Ron stepped through into the waiting area.  Godfrey, Kreighton and Rookie Auror Shacklebolt were on the other side.  Godfrey appeared a statue, standing on the right in front of the window, his eyes glued to the activity in the next room.  Ron couldn’t help the impulse to look in the next room and sure enough, he could just see John sitting at a table.  Kreighton, however, walked over to him.

 

“Auror Weasley!  You’re back!  Are we glad to see you!”

 

Ron raised his hand.  “Stay back Auror.”

 

“Sir?”

 

“I’m fighting a nasty cold and I don’t want you to get it.  So, please just stay over there.”  Kreighton took a few steps back.  “What’s going on?”

 

“Ms. Granger is in with the Rasmussen man.  Lieutenant Potter gave us orders to keep men in the room with them, but she ordered us out.”

 

“What?”  Ron walked over to get a better look, but stayed a bit to the side.  John was holding Hermione’s hand on the table top and Ron had to suppress the growl that rose from his chest.

 

Kreighton continued.  “The Deputy bound him to the chair, though.  He’s in there spouting off how he’s been injecting animals with weird potions and stuff.  The man is sick and I don’t like him taking her hand either.”

 

“Yeah, me neither,” Ron glared at the way John’s thumb kept rolling over the top of Hermione’s hand.  “The court guards are here to take him.”

 

“Yes, sir, but Miss Weasley said he hasn’t told them everything they need to know so we’re supposed to keep him here until we get a signal from Lieutenant Potter.”

 

 “I see.  They’re in observation, right?”  Ron glanced through the window, into the next room at the far wall, knowing Harry and Ginny were on the other side and probably able to see him at the same time.  He fully expected to hear one of them reprimand him at any moment.

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Ron stepped a bit closer to the window, not wanting to be in full view, but needing to see the exchange a bit better.  Godfrey acknowledged his presence with a single word, “Sir,” never moving his eyes away from the people in the next room.

 

Ron wiped his forehead and shivered.  The fever was creeping back on him again as he turned his head away from the others and coughed once.  He listened as Godfrey’s amplification spell directed the conversation through the wall directly in front of the junior Auror.

 

  _“…I just couldn’t bear it if you left.  I have to keep you with me.”_

It was John talking.Hermione replied _._

_“What if you could always have a piece of me with you?”_   

Ron watched as Hermione reached into her pocket and pulled out a white folded handkerchief.  “What the hell is she doing?” Ron asked, coughing into his arm.

 

“Do you want me to stop her?” Godfrey asked.

 

“No, let it play.”  Ron leaned on the wall, his energy level dropping.  Parker wasn’t joking when he said he’d come down fast.

 

Her voice spilled through the amplification spell.  

 

_“I remembered what you said about liking my hair so much and how we looked so much the same.  So, I wanted to give you this.”_   

 

Unfolding the handkerchief, one corner at a time, Hermione lifted up a lock of hair, bundled in a red ribbon and held it out toward him.

 

  _Who looked so much the same?  What is she doing?_  

John appeared totally floored, nearly weepy as he took the delicate curl of hair from Hermione.  “I…I don’t know what to say.  It’s beautiful.  Thank you.  I’ll keep it with me always.”  

“I’m glad you like it.”  Hermione’s eyes scrunched up as if she were upset about something.  Ron coughed again, but stared wide-eyed at the exchange.  How could she?  After everything John had done to her and after their own reconciliation.  She goes off and gives him something so personal.

 

“Sir, are you alright?” Kreighton asked as Ron’s eyes rolled back into his head, his forehead heavy with perspiration.

 

His feverish mind suffered with what he had seen and without warning, his knees gave way beneath him.  

 

*** 

 

With Ron’s collapse unknown to the pair in the interrogation room, Hermione kept talking, her voice filtered through the room as Kreighton and Shacklebolt rushed to Ron’s side.

 

  _“You know I’d really like to know how you increased the magical cell count.  I mean, just for my own curiosity.  I think it’s fascinating how you did that.”_  

Godfrey looked away for a moment, but must have felt that Ron had enough assistance with the other two Aurors and refocused on the conversation and his Lieutenant’s cues in the next room.

 

Except for Godfrey’s unwavering stance, the room bustled with activity as the two Aurors tended to their fallen supervisor.  “He’s awfully pale, sir.  I think we should get help.”  Shacklebolt said.

 

“Let’s take him to the Infirmary,” Kreighton instructed, slipping his hands under Ron’s arms.  They managed only a few steps when Harry’s voice echoed through the room.

 

  _“Kreighton, stop.  Back away from Auror Weasley.”_

Loud banging began to resonate from the red entrance door.  The WGs were apparently tired of waiting.

 Kreighton did as instructed, setting Ron back down and backing away, confusion evident on his face.  Harry’s voice came through the room again.

   _“Miss Weasley is coming around.  Let her in, and then Kreighton, you leave the room.  Godfrey, keep the WGs out if you can, just for a few more minutes.  We almost have it.”_

“Yes, sir.”

 

*** 

 

Hermione’s gesture must have really meant something to John.  He tucked the lock of hair in his pocket and had been holding both of her hands and smiling at her for the past couple of minutes.  More importantly, he was excitedly spewing information on cell binding and growth.  It didn’t mean a lot of Hermione, but she listened intently, hoping Ginny was getting all of it and trying to remember as many important sounding facts and keywords as possible.

 

A bustle of movement caught her eye on the left through the observation window.  Godfrey had left his post and, instead, a group of burgundy-robed figures stood staring in at them and pounding on the door.  The Detention Deputy quickly stepped in from the other entrance, effectively killing their conversation just as the red door swung open forcefully.  Godfrey stumbled backwards into the room, the WGs stampeding in.

 

“Hey, now wait a minute!” Godfrey yelled, trying to keep his balance.

 

“I’m sorry, Hugh, but we can’t wait,” one of the WGs explained, marching up to John and staring at the navy-robed deputy.  “Release his bindings.  I have a court order for his release.”

 

Another WG walked up and grabbed Hermione by the bicep, trying to pull her out of the chair.  Hermione wasn’t sure what she had done, but Godfrey was at her side in an instant, shoving the man out of the way.  “Rudy, let go of her.  She’s not in your jurisdiction.”

 

“Just keep her out of the way,” the WG replied, his agitation evident.  With three other men blocking the door, Godfrey pulled her back into the corner of the room, stepping in front of her.

 

With John’s bindings gone, the WG practically lifted him out of his seat.  

 

“Hey, what’s going on?” John complained.

 

“You’ve been released from Ministry custody, but I need to have a word with you before you can go.”  The WG escorted John from the room, but not before John craned his neck around and caught Hermione’s bewildered gaze.  “Hermione, I’ll cherish this.  I love you.” His voice trailed off as he kept yelling from the other room.  ”I’ll come for you, babe!  Don’t worry!  We’ll be together again!”

 

Hermione’s mouth ran dry as his words sank in.  He would come looking for her again.  She was never going to rid herself of this psychotic stalker.  Why did she have to look so much like his long-lost mother?

  

  _Please let the Portkey work!_  

Black, burgundy and navy robes shifted to and fro, in and out of the interrogation room.  Hermione couldn’t see everything clearly, but there was a lot of activity in the waiting room.  Voices called out things like ‘move aside’, ‘take him’ and ‘call Lieutenant Potter.’

 

“Are you alright?” Godfrey asked, turning back toward her, his brows bent with concern.  

 

She hadn’t realized until that second that she was visibly shaking from the encounter.  It seemed silly.  But despite her best efforts, her limbs kept vibrating.  She wanted Ron to hold her, to tell her everything would be alright.  However, once again she had gone against the grain.  Ron didn’t want her to meet with him, but she fell into the same trap, doing the ethically correct thing, ignoring her own personal feelings and his.  

 

Godfrey wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her back soothingly.  “It’s over with.  You’re fine.”  Instinct made her want to put some space between them, but her body wobbled.  “I can stay here with you until Lieutenant Potter arrives or escort you home if you want.”

 

“Th-thank you, Auror,” Hermione warbled into his shoulder, unable to maintain any sense of calm.  

 

“My name is Hugh and you’re welcome, ma’am.”

 

*** 

 

John found himself standing on an unknown street corner in London.  He felt as if he had just escaped the gallows.  Perhaps he had.  After being dragged from the interrogation room, he was taken to an office where a stout, older man gave him his wallet and an ultimatum of sorts.

 

His instructions had been to find Arty or all deals were off.  His first thought was that they had somehow planted some kind of homing device on him and that when he finally did run into Arty, they’d follow him there and arrest him and Arty on the spot.  He started rummaging through his trouser pockets, checking for anything strange.  It also seemed odd that they would let him go scott free, but use a technically empty threat as motivation.  He obviously didn’t need the deal if he was already free.

 

Peaking around the corner of a large brick building, John could see cars and people bustling past on a street a couple of blocks up and decided that would be the best route to follow.

 

John chuckled to himself at the absurdity of it all.  Still, stopping in front of a small sidewalk café, he sat down and checked his shoes.  Nothing stuck to the bottom, no removable heels.  Of course, he didn’t remember ever taking them off, but still better to be safe than sorry.  They hadn’t waved their wands at him so they must not have placed any spells on him.  He didn’t drink anything which meant it wasn’t a potion.  Then he searched his jacket pocket finding the lovely, ribbon-tied lock of hair.  His thoughts flashed back to the beautiful woman who gave it to him and then immediately to his mother.  He missed her.  It seemed that when she died, all the kindness evaporated from the world and he was left with a cruel, vindictive, barely tolerable father.  At least he ignored him for the most part and being seventeen at the time, John was able to leave for university not long after his mother’s death.  They never did arrest his father for the murder, but John knew he had killed her.  

 

“Can I help you, sir?” A young woman, undoubtedly a waitress from the café, smiled at him.

 

Instinctively, he smiled back, turning on the charm.  “Well, aren’t you a beautiful creature.  Do you model?  I think I’ve seen your face on the side of one of the city buses advertising the best and the beautiful of London.”  The woman blushed and shifted her eyes away.  “Actually, you _can_ help me.  I’ve gone and gotten myself lost.  Can you tell me what part of the city I’m in?”

 

“You’re in Chelsea.”

 

“Wonderful!  Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome.”  She walked away, still grinning from his compliments.  

 

John quickly checked his wallet, not sure if his cash flow would get him where he needed to be.  He paused, looking up the street as a double-decker bus drove past.  Where _did_ he need to be?  An elderly couple strode along the side-walk, a man in a business suit running across the street – all with places to go.  John discovered he really didn’t know where he was headed.  How would Arty know that he was released?  Even if he wanted to find his cousin, he didn’t have the faintest idea where to start.  After finding he had a bit of cash on hand, John went in search of a taxi, deciding Hermione’s flat was truly the only home he had.  Hopefully Arty would find him.  And at least he’d be able to return to his work, his passion and then he’d get her back.

  


	24. Chapter 24 - Putting Things Right

  
Author's notes: Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out.  September is a very hectic month for me.  To make up for it, this one is really long and I think all of you R/Hr lovers will really enjoy it.  Thanks again to my fantastic beta, Indie and to all my incredible readers!  


* * *

Chapter 24 – Putting Things Right

 

After determining that the waiting room was clear, Godfrey escorted Hermione out, finding a cushy upholstered chair in the outer lobby.  Several heated discussions still buzzed from the adjacent office space.  

 

“Why don’t you sit for a minute and then I can take you home.”  He stepped behind a large desk and began rifling through some parchment, but Hermione noted how he kept tossing her concerned glances.

 

Normally, she wouldn’t have agreed to all the fussing, but at this moment, her knees had the strength of little more than toothpicks holding up a bridge.  So, she opted to take Godfrey’s advice and sit.  It wasn’t so much the man-handling from the court guard as it was John’s love disguised promises and the remaining shivers that his touch had induced.  

 

“Auror?”  Hermione called out to him.  “Um…Hugh?”  He looked up from his desk.  “Do you know what those court guards wanted to talk to John about?”

 

But it was Harry’s voice that responded.  “They strongly encouraged him to find Carrow as quickly as possible.”  He strode in from the offices, his official black robes billowing out behind him, the weight of a million decisions pressing down on his eyes.  “Randolph wanted to make it clear that if he didn’t do what he could to help Diane that his arse would be back in prison in a heartbeat.  Ignorant son of a bitch doesn’t understand that his locator spell is worthless and he just let a potentially insane man loose on the streets!”

 

“Um…I kind of did something to help you with that,” Hermione confessed, worried of Harry’s response.  

 

“What?  What do you mean?”  Harry took a seat beside her, nothing accusatory in his expression, only curiosity.

 

“I know I probably should have cleared this with you first, but we were in a hurry and…”

 

“What did you do, Hermione?”

 

“Well, Ron and I were discussing ways to get him back.  And, really it was Ron’s idea.  He’s brilliant with this stuff,” she smiled, “and he suggested a Portkey with a delayed timer.  But we had to find something to give John that he’d keep on him all the time.”

 

The corners of Harry’s mouth inched up.  “The lock of hair.  You created a Portkey from a lock of hair?”

 

Hermione’s eyes caught Godfrey glancing their way, obviously taking note of her ingenuity.  “Well, technically, Ginny did it.  I researched, but she did the charm.  I thought perhaps she had told you.”

 

“No, but I’m impressed with both of you!  When is it set to go off?” 

 

“We set it for twelve hours and it will return him to the Ministry courtyard.  I hope that’s enough time for him to meet up with Carrow.”

 

“Probably is.”  Harry smiled for a brief moment.  Hermione thought she was off the hook, but then his head tipped, eyes squinted and she felt a good scolding about to come her way.  “But I wasn’t so pleased with you excusing the guards from the room.  I put them there for your safety.”

 

“I know and I appreciate that.  But I never would have gotten the information from him, or gave him that Portkey if…”

 

“…if they were there to stop you.  Yeah, I get it.  Ginny hammered that point home.  That’s the only reason I didn’t march over there myself.”

 

“Thank you for trusting me.”

 

“I’ve always trusted you, Hermione.  You’re the one person I will never doubt.”  His statement of faith was a real affirmation of her return to the living and Hermione gave him a tight-lipped smile.  “Godfrey, make a note of the time.  In about eleven hours we need to be ready to take back our prisoner.”

 

Godfrey nodded, jotting a note on the nearby parchment.  

 

“Why don’t we get back?  We need to check on Ron and see how he’s doing.  Ginny’s with him and I’m sure Parker as well by now, but I want to make sure he’s alright.”

 

Hermione stood up, her feet a bit more sure underneath her.  “Give me just a minute, Harry.”  She walked over to the guard desk.  “Hugh?”

 

Godfrey turned, his arms still pull of papers.  “Yes, ma’am?”

 

“You can call me Hermione.  I just wanted to thank you again for your help and…well, for your kindness back then.  I’m sorry if I leaned on you a bit too much.”  

 

“It’s not a problem.  You’re very welcome.”

 

She leaned in to give him a hug.  Dropping the stack of papers on the desk, he returned the gesture, offering a gentle pat on the back.

 

 “I’m still going to call you Ms. Granger though.  I don’t relish the idea of Auror Weasley pounding me into dust for getting too friendly with you.”

 

“He won’t.  He’ll appreciate your efforts as much as I do.”

 

Godfrey smiled and Hermione exited with Harry right behind her.  

 

“Made a new friend, huh?”

 

“He’s been great.  You should put him up for promotion or something.”

 

Harry grinned.  “I’m sure he’d be pleased with that.”

 

“Well, he deserves it.”

 

“I’ll put a note in his file.”  Harry unlocked the next door and held it open for her.  “So, how’s the press conference coming?  I’m sure I’ll be hearing from Lola any minute now.”

 

“Good actually.  Ron and I got a lot done, but he was really exhausted and we had to stop.”

They paused in the corridor, only feet away from Lola’s office.  “If you can Apparate back to the house and pick up my paperwork, I could probably give it to her now.  I think it was complete enough.”

 

“You don’t want to check on Ron, first?”

 

“He’s probably asleep and this won’t take long.”

 

“Alright.  Do you want to wait in your office?”

 

“My office.  Wow, that sounds weird considering I haven’t been in to work in so long.  It’s strange to think I even have one anymore.”

 

“Well you do.  Come on.”

 

They marched back down the hall and Private Whitcomb snapped to attention before doing his customary scan.  “Ms. Granger, I’m glad to see you’re better and don’t worry, none of the others have said a thing.  They’re all being very discreet.”

 

“Thank you,” she frowned, not quite sure what he meant.  Harry tugged her down the hall and once out of earshot, Hermione grabbed Harry by the sleeve.  “What’s with the comment about being discreet?  Why is it that everyone is acting so strange when they see me?  I’ve been asked ‘how are you feeling’ about four million times in the past day or two and each time the men look away like they’re embarrassed or something.”  Harry swallowed and glanced down.  “Harry, you’re doing it right now!  Is it some inside joke or something?”

 

The door opened in front of them and Kingsley strode into the hallway.  “Hermione!  What a joy to see you back!”  He offered a hug and Hermione reciprocated.  

 

“Thank you, Kingsley.”

 

“We really could use you back at work, but you take your time and make sure you’re healthy before you return.”

 

“Yes, sir.  I hope to be back soon.  I do think that Ron and I have come up with a press release that will stave off the wolves for a little while.”

 

“Excellent!  How is Ron?  I heard what happened.”

 

“Not well, but the Healers and Ginny are working hard on it.”

 

“Well, give him my best.”  Harry pushed her along, passing Kingsley, and she stepped into the main room for the Senior Aurors.  

 

“Where are the papers?” Harry asked.

 

“On the dining table.”

 

Harry nodded.  “I’ll be right back.”  He smiled and took off.

 

Hermione glanced around, still not that familiar with the large room that held the desks of the highest ranking Aurors.  It was odd to think that Harry and Ron were already considered amongst the elite in this group when they were so young, but she had to admit that in the little amount of time she’d had to watch them in action, they truly deserved the honor.  

 

There were eight desks in the room, including Ron’s.  Harry’s office sat off to one side and another office filled the gap between Harry’s and Kingsley’s.  Two desks were occupied at the moment, but she didn’t know either of the men.  Honestly, they were all so young looking.  Voldemort’s reign of terror had brought down some of the older, more experienced ones and others had retired not long after, exhausted from years of battle.  Her memories scanned through images of Mad Eye, Tonks and many others who she’d seen fall in the skirmish.  This was almost an entirely new crew with Kingsley at the helm, but about to move up himself.  He’d be Minister soon and Harry and Ron would be in charge of the entire Auror division.  

 

Her eyes turned up to the gold plaque on the door at the end of the room, the one that contained her name, and she began to walk toward it.  Even with her lower count, she felt confident that she’d be able to return to work soon.  That thought gave her a calming sense of normalcy.  She was still hopeful that her magic might increase on its own and her skills would return, but a part of her was beginning to consider the possibility of living a life that would rely solely on her cerebral abilities.  After being resigned to death, she was now so appreciative of what she had:  friends, family, love and less on the magic.  Not that she didn’t still desperately want it back, but she didn’t want to get her hopes up too much.

 

Unexpectantly, Hermione’s footsteps came to an immediate halt.  Her current train of thought left her bewildered at the cause, but then a little hidden voice, a nudge to her subconscious reminded her of the fact she was standing next to Ron’s desk.  She wanted to look, to touch, to browse, and yet that suggestion felt very intrusive.  This was his private work space.

 

The logical portion of her brain reminded her that two other Aurors were sitting in the room.  This then put the gears in motion, an excuse forming within seconds.  She was just stopping to check Ron’s inbox, his mail, to see if there was anything she needed to bring him.  That would be the explanation should the need arise.

 

With the same hesitance as an unrequited lover, Hermione dragged her finger tips over the hard wooden desk top.  It was clean and polished.  Not that she was testing it for dirt, but that little fact just added to the positive qualities of the man that sat there.  Something about seeing the way he lived during the day made her warm inside.  Just getting this little glimpse into his daily routine seemed as intimate as touching him herself.  Glancing over her shoulder and noting the two men deeply entrenched in their work, Hermione slipped into Ron’s chair, her eyes wandering over the evidence of his life, his work.  It seemed a very personal moment.

 

Fulfilling her alibi, she lifted the items from his inbox and took a quick glance through them.  Perhaps there would be some items he might need or want.  It was probably smart to look.  Needing a bit more confidence, Hermione reminded herself that this was just like being in school when one of the students was ill and their friend would gather their missed homework.

 

Pulling out a few important looking documents, Hermione set the other items back neatly in the basket.  Her eyes flashed to that dog-eared envelope nestled between the name plate and framed photo.  Biting her lip, she pulled it out and carefully opened the envelope, brushing aside her initial feelings of intrusion.  It was her letter after all.  She wrote it.  So, technically, it was her property, right?  Still she couldn’t help but check for movement in her peripheral vision as she pulled it from the envelope.

 

Unfolding it, she read back her own handwriting from about eight months earlier.

 

  _Dear Ron,_

_I apologize for the inexcusable amount of time it has taken to reply to your last letter.  I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you how school work and life in general seems to eat up every hour of the day._ _School continues to…_   

A door slammed and a voice bellowed from behind her.  “Weasley!”

 

Startled, Hermione fumbled, folding the letter and stuffing it into the envelope, hoping that it went back to its home in the proper position.  She bolted upright and spun around looking for the source of the voice and found the other two Aurors turned toward the long hall that led from the lobby to the Auror central hub.  A second later, Judge Randolph rumbled into the office, a piece of parchment clutched in his fist.  His round face was a patch work of rosy skin, his eyes squinting.  The Auror at the first desk stood and attempted to address the judge, but the moment Randolph’s eyes found Hermione, he marched straight for her.

 

“You!  You know Weasley.  Where is he?” the judge demanded, shaking the document at her.

 

As if standing in her current spot might lead him to some inappropriate conclusions, she stepped a few feet to the left.  “He’s ill your Honor.  He’s home resting.”

 

“Resting my arse!  I need him here, now!  You go and get him.”  Randolph pointed to the exit.

 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir.  He’s too ill to come in.”

 

“My daughter’s life is at stake!”  Hermione backed up, opening the door to her office, hoping he would follow her in.  He seemed to accept the invitation and stomped in, Hermione pushing the door behind him.  “I want action!”

 

“Your Honor, what’s happened?”

 

He took the document in his hand and slapped it down onto the desk.  “This is what happened.”

 

Hermione glanced at him once before picking it up.  She recognized immediately that it was some kind of ransom note.

 

  _I didn’t really want John, but good to know you can follow directions.  Thanks for his release, though.  He’ll be very helpful to me._

_Send Ron Weasley to Trafalgar Square at 5pm tomorrow with twenty thousand galleons in a plain black duffle bag.  Alone and unarmed.  I’ll know._

_Your pretty daughter is very frightened.  It really excites me to see her like this.   She wants me to touch her, but I’ll trade her virginity for the money.  I’ll trade her for Weasley.  Now do as you’re told._

“We only have one day.  I have to gather the money, but I need Weasley to be ready as soon as I get back from Gringotts.”

 

A knock sounded on the door a millisecond before it opened.  “Hermione?”   

 

“Harry!”

 

Randolph redirected his demands the minute he saw Harry.  “Look Potter, it was a trick.  He never wanted the Rasmussen man.  What he wants is Auror Weasley and twenty thousand galleons.”

 

Harry held a stack of papers in his hand and walked in.  Hermione immediately noted his ‘told you so’ expression and the fact that he seemed to be using a life’s worth of restraint from saying something rude to the jurist.  Recognizing her press release, she quickly took it from him.  “I was just explaining to the judge that Auror Weasley is very ill and won’t be able to help him.”

 

Williams and one of the other Aurors stepped casually into the doorway, obviously attracted by the judge’s rants and interested in the latest news.  She and Harry saw them, but Randolph just kept spouting orders.

 

“If you explain the situation to him, he’ll help.  Diane meant something to him; they were in love.  They were engaged to be married until this…” Randolph scrunched up his nose, “…charlatan showed up and enticed him away with her offers of easy sex and wanton ways.”

 

“Excuse me?” Hermione replied, her eyes wide with shock.

 

“They’d still be together if it wasn’t for you!” Randolph bellowed.

 

“Your Honor, that is wholly unfair,” Harry interjected.  “Ron and Hermione have been friends since childhood and I can personally vouch…”

 

“Oh, vouch all you want, Potter, your word...”

 

“Excuse me, your Honor, but I’d like to finish my statement.”  Randolph appeared a bit surprised that anyone would dare scold him, but his lips drew tight as Harry continued.  “They are friends.  Hermione would never intentionally try to break up a relationship.  She is the most upstanding, respectable, morally virtuous person I know!”

 

“Sure, sure.  And she’s your friend, too.  Or perhaps you’re more than friends, hmm?  Is she promising you a little action as well?”  Randolph’s eyes had turned to pinpoints.  

 

“Now wait a min…”

 

“I heard how you went over my head to get the restraining order dropped so that your two friends could be alone together.  Don’t think for one minute that I’m not aware of what you’ve been doing, Potter.  You think you’re so powerful with your hero status, but there are rules to be followed young man and you don’t get to just skip over the ones that you don’t like.  I could have sent Weasley to Azkaban!  Then you send in this little scheming liar to claim that he never did anything.  She was in on it the whole time, wasn’t she?  You see I have the law on my side and I’m looking out for my daughter, no matter what.”

Hermione’s mouth had fallen open, shocked at both Randolph’s lewd insinuations and Harry’s remarkable compliment.  Wide-eyed, she waited for Harry’s response, wondering if he would manage to hold his temper.  After all, Harry did go behind Randolph’s back so he couldn’t argue that point.  It appeared, based on the looks and silence, that the other Aurors were all waiting on tenterhooks as well, not sure if their boss was about to blow up or hex the stout little man before him.

 

 Harry drew in a deep breath through his nose as if trying to calm himself, but his eyes blazed in bright jade, the fury evident behind them.  “If you want my help in getting your daughter back, then I suggest you keep your opinions about my friends to yourself.  I’ll state this plainly.  Mr. Weasley has been infected with a potentially fatal virus.  He’s very ill and is in quarantine.  We can’t allow him to expose himself to other wizards.”

 

“I don’t care if he keels over in the middle of Trafalgar Square and infects the whole lot of them!  I want my daughter back!”

 

Besides the two Aurors Hermione didn’t know, it appeared a few more people had crowded around the door, including another Auror, two other members of the Wizengamot and Lola who appeared agast at the judge’s comments.

 

“Your Honor!  You can’t mean that!” Lola gaped, pushing through the men in the doorway.

 

Randolph snapped around, still fuming “of course, I….” Seeing the group assembled at the door, his inherent political instincts kicked in.  Pleasing your constituents was the Randolph family creed and suddenly he found himself surrounded by a room full of voters.  “I…don’t mean that.  Um…what I meant is that um…well…” he cleared his throat.  Randolph appeared to be foundering.

 

Despite being miffed at the judge’s rude comments toward her, Hermione immediately saw the opportunity to place herself in a good position by helping the man save face.  “What Judge Randolph means is that having Auror Weasley present at the exchange gives us a much better chance of apprehending Artimus Carrow and if, by chance, Mr. Carrow were to contract the illness, he could be easily quarantined in the Detention Center or at Azkaban and would be much less of a threat to the wizarding public at large.”

 

“Exactly!”  Randolph beamed to the group of people, but tossed a hesitant smile at Hermione.  He knew he was going to owe her.  

 

“Judge Randolph’s thoughts weren’t being expressed as clearly as he hoped due to the extreme mental stress his is suffering from the kidnapping of his daughter.”

 

“Yes, yes.  Precisely.”

 

Lola pushed her way through the door.  “Of course and we’re so sorry to hear this devastating news!  My department will do everything possible to help you secure her release.”

 

Hermione looked to Lola whom, at this point in her career, she knew very little about.  Her first meeting with the woman had been entirely pleasant, but from Harry’s comments, her demeanor ever since had been wholly demanding, frighteningly uncaring and entirely self-absorbed.  However, Hermione recognized how her own absence may have contributed to Lola’s stress level.  If she was going to work here in the future, then she might as well get off on a good foot.

 

“I was planning on holding a press conference tomorrow, but perhaps we want to at least issue a press release with this information on Carrow.  Get his face and name out in the public and, above all, warn the public of the danger and make sure they know they should stay away from him at all costs.  I’ve already cleared this through the Auror Division.”

 

“Excellent!  Now I just need Mr. Weasley to make the drop.”  Randolph appeared very pleased with himself, rolling on the balls of his feet.  The rest of the room nearly sighed in unison, all recognizing that Randolph still hadn’t been listening about Ron’s condition.

 

For the first time since meeting the woman, Hermione was pleased with Lola.  The older lady walked up, putting a comforting hand on the judge’s shoulder and steered him out of her office and toward her own.  The two fell into comforting and conspiratorial conversation leaving the remaining crowd in Hermione’s doorway to exchange puzzled glances.  As usual, Harry took charge. 

“Alright, back to work everyone.  Williams, I need to see you in my office, but I need to speak to Ms. Granger first.” 

Williams nodded and turned, following the other Aurors back in the direction of their desks.  The rest of the crowd disbursed and Harry lowered his voice, turning and taking her hand.  “Hermione, I’m so sorry about that.  He had no right to say those things about you.”  

“It’s not your fault, Harry,” she assured, but Harry continued to look very troubled.  “I may not want to hold my breath for an apology from him, but I have a feeling that we’ll talk again in the future about this.” 

“Still, I think that somehow my actions may have set him off.  He shouldn’t have said those things about you just because he was irritated with me.” 

“He may be rude and totally self-absorbed, but I realize he’s under a lot of stress.  Besides, I’m pretty thick skinned.  His comments don’t bother me.” 

“Are you sure?” he stroked his hand down her arm in a comforting gesture.  He had always been the type of personality that took his friends’ feelings to heart.  She may have been insulted, but Harry’s green eyes exuded pain and frustration on her behalf.  With a warm rush in her chest, she wrapped her arms around him, her throat clogging up with emotion.  This man had been there for her from day one, the truest of friends, and she had never really thanked him.   

At first she couldn’t speak, the past weeks’ memories crushing down on her as she reviewed everything Harry, Ginny and Ron had done for her.  Harry tensed, patting her on the back as she continued to hold him close, but finally he relaxed and returned the embrace with the same warmth and love in which it was given. 

“Harry, thank you for everything,” she sniffed, her eyes watering up.  “I don’t know what I would have done without you.” 

He didn’t reply and Hermione wondered if he was having the same constricting feeling in this throat.  “I love you, Harry.  So, so much.” 

“I know,” he warbled, and for the first time Hermione knew he was suffering through his own bought with emotion.  “I love you, too, Hermione.” 

She pulled back far enough to look at him, but still holding his arms.  “So many things have happened and I never really thanked you.  I can’t believe what you’ve gone through for me.  You and Ginny and Ron.  All of you.  You’ve put your lives on hold to care for me.” 

Harry’s glassy eyes blinked back his own set of moisture and he leaned in, pressing his lips to her forehead.  “You’re my sister.  I’d do anything for you.”   

Their eyes met, holding just long enough to express the sincerity in both their hearts.  She couldn’t be more blessed than to have this man’s love and it was certainly apparent to both of them that theirs was a friendship that would never fade. 

With a deep breath, she released him, stepping back and carefully dabbing away the tears that were developing under her lashes.  When she finally made eye contact with him, he was smiling.  It wasn’t an inconsequential smile, not casual, not simply pleasant.  This smile spoke of weight-lifting relief and joy, the treasure of long-held bonds and hope of new beginnings.  She wasn’t totally out of the woods, but still felt renewed.  With faith in her friends and a fresh set of determination, she wanted to bring them all through this so that they could share in the same renaissance of life that filled her. 

Pushing a similar smile onto her face, she tried to get them back on track and out of the emotional hole they had dug for themselves.  “Well, I guess I should get this press release out and then I need to get back and see how Ron is doing.” 

“Yeah, I have to talk to Williams and see if he’s found anything on Carrow.  Then we have to figure out what to do about this money drop.” 

“Obviously, Ron can’t do it.” 

“Yeah.  I just hope we find Diane Randolph before the deadline.” 

***  

John whistled as he walked.  Despite everything that had happened, here he was, scott free with this goals in sight.  Fingering the precious lock of hair in his pocket, he made his way to the small brick building that housed the secret back room he had used on numerous occasions to contact his cousin.  It obviously wasn’t appropriate for a Muggle like himself to keep an owl as a pet, but he had learned that owl post was the best form of post delivery when it came to reaching Arty. 

Stepping into the building, the small bell tolled his presence and a middle-aged man with square glasses and an impossibly stupid hair cut looked up at him.  The front part of this business looked like any other modern shipping center with scales on the counter and packing material for sale.  Key drilled boxes lined the wall, an elderly lady opening one to retrieve her mail, but other than her, the business seemed empty of patrons.  Pulling a small brass key from his trousers, John slipped it into the box numbered 1412 and opened the door, a small stack of envelopes inside.   

John closed the door, stepped back and paused a second, making sure the woman wasn’t watching him before striding casually toward the back of the store, around a corner that held various roles of packing tape and a wall of greeting cards.  Behind it, a red curtain hung over an arched opening and John slipped quickly behind it.  Another high counter sat in front of him, a small bell on one side, a stack of parchment on the other.  Without a wand, John wasn’t able to gain access to the main part of the back room, but within a minute, the geeky-looking man from the front came around to the private desk in the back. 

“Can I help you?” 

“I need to send an owl, but I only have Muggle money.” 

“That’s fine.” 

John pulled out a piece of parchment from a stack on the counter and quickly wrote out a note, folding it into a small rectangle with Arty’s name on the outside.  He reached in his pocket and pulled out some change.  Glancing at the name on the front, the clerk eyed him for a moment.  Perhaps he recognized the name and he may have even questioned sending the post, but it was clear that this man was used to tending to business and not sticking his nose into it. 

He raked the change from the counter and turned to open another door, the warble of birds drifting through from the backroom.  

 “I’ll send this right off, sir.” 

“Thank you.”  John exited the way he had come and walked swiftly toward Hermione’s flat, anxious to check on his lab, ready to draw up what he thought might be the final test of his serum.  The stubborn side of him had no desire to find Arty anytime soon.  Doing so would be feeding satisfaction to those idiotic wizard muscle men who thought they could rule the world.  Like they could boss him around.  Why should he care about some bimbo that Arty decided to snatch?  She wasn’t his concern.  At the same time, he did want to see his cousin and tell him what had been happening. 

***  

Hermione felt disappointed that her good spirits had suddenly drooped.  Being back in the office and actually being productive provided a much needed boost to her psyche.  Perhaps the desire for normalcy drove her as she prepared the press release, walking it swiftly from office to office, getting the proper signatures, researching expected formats, etc.  But, then again, it was certainly possible that she just wanted to forget, to somehow pretend that the past few weeks hadn’t happened…weren’t still happening.  Did it really matter what the reasons were for her actions? She didn’t want to even think about it, just to focus on getting the paperwork fed through the proper channels as swiftly as possible. 

And for a few exuberant moments, she basked in accomplishment, sitting at her desk, forcing away a self-indulgent smile.  That’s why the disappointment came so swift.  Her thoughts immediately flashed back to Ron and, with her work done, she wanted to get back to him as soon as possible.  Then it hit her.  She still couldn’t go home without the use of a taxi or an auto, and worse than all that, she had no money.  With no job to work, nothing had come into the coffers for weeks and what little she had went toward the rent on her flat that was now certainly being occupied by two miscreants. 

Sucking up her courage, she locked her door and walked toward Harry’s office, hating to even ask for a loan, but understanding the absolute necessity behind it.  Poking her head around the door jamb, she spied nothing but office furniture. 

“Darn.” 

Her mind immediately started to examine where else to look or who she could ask.  Kingsley’s secretary was conspicuously absent and so she strode over to his door and knocked delicately.  No answer.  She tapped again, but it was clear he was out as well.  Glancing around the room, the only Auror she saw was the young man monitoring the Muggle news and she wasn’t going to ask him.  Blowing out a deep breath, she sunk into the green leather chair next to the secretary’s desk, resigning herself to a bit of a wait. 

An opening door snapped her out of her dreary funk and she perked up, hopeful the approaching footsteps belonged to Harry.  Instead, she found herself back in the presence of her previous hazel-eyed savior. 

“Ms. Granger?  What are you doing here?”  Hermione was rifling through several possible responses and Godfrey must have thought his question had topped the pile of idiotic queries.  “I didn’t mean to say it that way.  I know that you work here, but I…” 

“It’s alright, Hugh.  I’m just struggling with a little embarrassment over my predicament.” 

“What predicament would that be?” he smiled, apparently amused by her statement. 

“I’m kind of stuck.  Do you happen to know where Harry might be?” 

“No, but I could call him for you.  Um…is there something I could do meantime?” 

Hermione started to speak and once again found the thought of revealing all of her weaknesses a bit too overwhelming to consider.  Her pause must have prompted him to continue, his eyes still shining with their usual concern. 

“Don’t feel bad, Ms. Granger.  We don’t think any less of you because of what’s happened.”  He dropped into the chair alongside her.  “The blokes around here nearly worship Aurors Potter and Weasley.  And we do know that you were a part of the trio that took down the dark one.  So, you have a lot of respect from the Aurors, despite what they’ve witnessed.  We know you’ve been ill, but any one of us would do anything you need to help out.” 

“Despite what you’ve witnessed?” she asked, gulping down another slice of angst.  “I guess I’ve been a bit of trouble for everyone.” 

“No, ma’am.  It’s no trouble.  After what you’ve done for all of us, you deserve our help.  So, you can tell me if you need help and I’ll do my best.” 

Godfrey had a manner about him that soothed even the most troubled of souls and Hermione decided that requesting a ride home wasn’t all that bad.  “I have no way to get home.  Well, not home, but to Harry’s house which is where I’m staying right now.  I’d like to check on Ron.” 

“You can’t Apparate, correct?” 

“Or use the Floo, it’s against doctors’ orders.”  Then an idea popped into her head.  “Does the Knight Bus run a route between here and Harry’s house?” 

“I believe so, if you feel like getting your teeth rattled out of your head.  I don’t have any Muggle money on me, but I could fly you home.” 

“Oh, I don’t want to bother you with all that.  I’ll just wait for Harry.” 

“It’s not a bother.  Come with me.  I’ll have you home in no time.” 

Hermione felt uncomfortable at the suggestion of sitting with this man on a broom ride, but she also recognized the sincerity in his offer and finally her desire to get back won out over her own pride.  She followed him to the lifts, back through the Ministry main hall and soon they were in a foyer of sorts with rows of brooms, each resting in their own notch, a name engraved above each as if having assigned parking spots. 

Within a few minutes, Godfrey pushed off with her seated in front of him and they were sailing toward Harry’s house.  She tried desperately not to touch him, obviously an impossibility as he kept one arm firmly wrapped around her waist and joked about his little sister and how he used to take her up flying.  He was clearly trying to keep the ride friendly and casual and she did appreciate it.  However, having a strong, young man hold you close on a broom only made her more tense.  Before she knew it, they were at the back of Harry’s estate.  The wards kept him from taking her to the main door, but she didn’t mind the walk. 

Slipping off the broom, she felt him release his grip on her.  “Thank you, Auror.” 

“You’re welcome, Ms. Granger.  Please give Auror Weasley my best for a speedy recovery.” 

“I will.”  He smiled warmly and kicked off, returning in the direction they had come. 

After a quick two minute walk, Hermione strode into the back of the house, the buzz of the wards tingling as she stepped safely through them.  Voices filtered through the house and soon she found the source, Parker and Ginny seated at the dining room table, a warehouse full of documents and books scattered before them.  

“Hermione!  You’re back.” Ginny glanced over her shoulder, clearly expecting to find Harry trailing behind.  “Where’s Harry?”

 

“I’m not sure.  He had work to do with this whole kidnapping thing.  So, Auror Godfrey flew me home on his broom.”

 

“Well, that’s different.  I didn’t think you cared much for broom rides.”

 

“I don’t, but I wanted to get back to see how Ron was doing and it seemed like my only option.”  Ginny nodded, but Hermione wanted to get down to business.  “So?  How is he?”

 

“Not well, but there’s some good news.  I think I may have found a way to stop this virus.  I came back to discuss it with Healer Parker.”

 

“That’s great news!  I knew you’d figure it out.”  

 

“We just have one problem,” Parker interrupted.  “The virus is attaching itself to the nuclidites in the witch or wizard’s body.  Typically, these types of cells don’t bind to anything without some very complex potions and I’ve never seen a disease that involved them specifically.”

 

Ginny said “Parker is going to talk to some researchers he knows.  We have to find a way to reduce the number of magical cells in the body without turning the witch or wizard into a Squib or worse.  But at least we know the cause.”

 

Parker was already up, gathering some documents.  “I’ll come back to check on him later.  Just keep the potions going.”  Ginny nodded her understanding and with a quick twist, Parker was gone.

 

A brief moment ensued where the two ladies locked eyes, a million unspoken thoughts flowing between them and just as suddenly Ginny ripped hers away and started reshuffling papers.  Hermione watched curiously as her friend’s forehead creased repeatedly with concern.  The strain of solving this medical riddle only added to the already draining emotions of her friend.  She could only imagine the suffering that Ginny had gone through, first with her own near-death experiences and now with her own brother.  It made her own worried heart sink even deeper with the weight of so much misery.

 

“Ginny?  Can I help you?” Hermione asked, desperate to do something not only for Ron, but to help her troubled friend.

 

Ginny shook her head, turning away from Hermione to recollect her books.  However, Hermione had a strong suspicion that what she was actually collecting was an over-wrought set of emotions.  She knew she had already asked this, but…

 

“Um…so, how’s Ron?” she asked, wondering if she should go up and check on him.  “Still running a fever?  Does he…”

 

With shocking abruptness, Ginny flew around, her face contorted in pain as she yelled.  “He’s _DYING_ , alright?”  Hermione stood in the wake of her angst-filled scream, unsure of what to say or do, but it seemed that Ginny realized the impact of her outburst.

 

“I’m sorry, Hermione.  I didn’t mean to…” she wiped her eyes and turned away again.

 

After slowly pulling the rapier from her heart, Hermione tried to push aside the horrible vision of a dead Ron and focus on her suffering friend.  She approached Ginny slowly, wrapping her arms around Ginny’s shoulders as she watched her struggle and sniff.  “It’s alright, Ginny.  I know it’s hard and it’s alright to cry.”

 

Maybe it was Hermione’s compassion that triggered the outpouring of grief, or maybe just her own body needing to release.  Either way, Ginny began a tear-filled confession.  “It’s just that I keep trying and trying, but Ron just keeps getting worse and worse.  He’s maxed out on potions, I’ve upped his dose as much as possible.  Anymore might kill him.  First, I thought we might lose you and I didn’t know how to cope with that, but I realized that it wasn’t in my hands.  Now, it’s all on me!  If I don’t find this cure…I don’t think I can live with myself if Ron dies and it’s my fault…”

 

“Shh, shh, it’s not your fault, Ginny.  You didn’t create this virus.”

 

“I know, but I just feel…” she sniffed “…I feel like it’s my responsibility to solve this, to come through for him.”  Ginny spun back around, her face now blotchy and red with worry.  “I need _you_.”

 

Touched by the gesture, Hermione tried to sound reassuring.  “I’m here for you, Gin.”  She spoke soothingly, trying her best to calm her tortured friend.  It felt good to be needed again.  “I’ll always be here.”  The words slipped out with the same ease as from months before.  How casual it sounded to say that when, in reality, life could end all too abruptly, leaving such promises for naught. 

 

“You love him, don’t you?” Ginny asked, her eyes still leaking rivulets of tears.

 

That seemed an out-of-place question, but she responded with ease.  “You know I do.”

 

“You’d do _anything_ for him?”

 

“Of course.”  Now Hermione was wondering where this conversation was headed.

 

Ginny paused painfully, suddenly drawing in a shaky breath.  “I need you to do something for him and for me.”

 

“Anything,” Hermione replied without a pause.  If there was anything that could be done, she’d do it without hesitation.

 

“I want you to take his magic away.”

 

“What?” Hermione stood in stunned silence for a few seconds, unsure of what she just heard.  Ginny’s tear-filled eyes scrunched up again as a fresh wave of grief washed over her and Hermione understood that she had heard her friend correctly.

 

“I need you to go to him and…” Ginny swallowed, still looking down “…seduce him.  Obviously, you’re the only one who could do this and I wouldn’t ask except that I know you love him and I know he’d probably agree.  If he has sex with you, your body will drain more of his cells.”  Hermione studied her friend, trying to understand the logic in this plan.

 

“So, lowering his count should help fight off the virus, right?”

 

Ginny nodded.  “I think so.  That’s what all the tests are indicating, but we just can’t find a way to lower the cell count, not in a controlled manner, except through…”

 

“Through the bonding process.  If I do this with him, my body will pull more cells from him and lower his count making him less susceptible to the virus while also restoring me?”

 

“Yes, that’s the thought.”

 

“Alright, so ignore all the personal and emotional repercussions, that’s something that Ron and I would need to work out.  Beyond that, this sounds like a win-win situation on the medical front.  So, why do you seem so concerned?”

 

“Hermione, your body is still quite low, his count is down, and the bond between you so strong that you could potentially draw enough cells from him to leave him a permanent squib.”

 

“Permanent?  Wouldn’t his body regenerate those cells?  He’s regenerating them now, right?”

 

“Yes, he is, which is why he’s getting sicker.  I don’t know.  It’s possible he still might, but it’s also very possible that he won’t this time, not if he gets too low.  I need you to understand that doing this could mean the end of his magical abilities.  Forever.”

 

“Oh, Ginny,” she shook her head, “I don’t know.  Do you really think that could happen?  I mean, what are the odds?  Didn’t the other donors come back fine?  Parker didn’t say anything about them becoming magicless.”

 

“Yes, those two men improved, but he also told me that Ron’s count dropped so dramatically in your first bonding, it was beyond anything he had seen before.  He’s never had two people who were actually in love with each other.  The bond between the two of you is far stronger than he’s ever encountered and your body’s count fell lower than his previous patients.  So, he’s not sure what this could mean for Ron, but he warned me of the potential worse-case scenario and I just need to make sure you understand what I’m asking of you.”

 

“Maybe we should wait a little longer.  You may find…” 

 

Ginny cut her off with a determine shake of the head.  “No, he’s at the turning point right now.”  She marched over to the dining table, flipped open the folder.  “I’ve studied all the other case histories, I’ve seen the photos,” she lifted up a couple of photos that Hermione really didn’t care to see.  “They all progressed at the same rate.  The patients that died, suffered just like him, the weight loss, the cough, intense fever, rash and then on the third day they took a sudden, dramatic turn for the worse.”  She dropped the photos on the table and Hermione tried not to look.  “Their fevers spiked beyond the bounds of what any medication could control.  They nearly went insane as their bodies baked their brains from the inside.”  Hermione shivered at the visual, finally realizing the importance of what Ginny had asked.

 

“So, I need to do this right away?”

 

“I’m sorry.  I know that you and Ron have had your problems and as much as I would love for you to be together again, I also know that this is a really emotionally charged situation for you.  I wouldn’t ask except…I can’t face my mother and tell her that…” her voice broke, unable to continue, but Hermione knew what she was trying to say.  For Molly to lose another child, it would completely break the woman.  Even if Ginny and Hermione and all of Ron’s other siblings and friends were able to cope with such a loss, Molly never would.  For herself, Hermione’s near death experience would seem easy compared to losing Ron.  There was nothing more to consider.

 

“Alright, then I’ll do it.  Is he um…is he strong enough to actually do it or am I going to have to help…”  Memories of her own similar experience popped into her head.

 

“I think so.  Parker just gave him another dose of cooling potion, a cough suppressing potion and quadruple dose of a new Pepper-Up potion.  We can’t give him anything more.”  Ginny walked into the kitchen, Hermione on her heels.  “I mixed another strengthening potion in with the usual bonding ingredients.  So, get him to drink this and it should help him through the...you know.”  

 

Ginny handed her the bonding and strengthening potion with a mixed look of sorrow and resolve.  Hermione knew that doing so was killing her friend on the inside.  Hermione had to struggle to keep the tears at bay recognizing Ginny’s dilemma.  She had to weigh the risks of a magicless brother and the life that would mean for him against the possibility of a cure and saving his life.  Then, just for good measure, she had to toss in Hermione’s well-being.  Hermione wrapped her arms around her friend.  “I love you, Ginny.”

 

Ginny nodded, pressing her lips together as her own tears welled and turned away quickly toward the kitchen.

 

Hermione blew out a calming breath and started for the steps.  For the first time in weeks, Hermione’s head felt clear.  The fog of depression and illness had lifted.  Not only that, she nearly sizzled with an abundance of thought.  After weeks of being occupied with the constant struggle to keep her bodily functions working, it seemed that Hermione’s brain was itching to stretch its legs and delve into something more intriguing.  And, it wasted little time in having at it.  

 

The tables were suddenly turned.  Hermione shouldered the burden of life and death.  She quickly began to realize how Ron must have felt coming to her just days before.  He had to have been wracked with an emotional mix of guilt and desire, dread and longing.  Because that was how she felt at the moment.  She licked her lips repeatedly as she climbed the stairs for they kept drying out as she contemplated her next move.  Ron had done so much for her in the past weeks and now that she was truly awake, she wanted to slap herself repeatedly for not recognizing his concern.  

 

Lost in thought, it took a moment before the door knob appeared clearly before her.  She had been standing at Ron’s door for who knows how long, just rearranging the priorities in her life.  Hermione had fought the Grim Reaper and won.  She struggled to find a way to describe the feeling.  Not that she felt like giving a speech or writing a paper on the subject, but just to compartmentalize the experience and store it in the right spot in her brain.  Battling death was unlike anything she could have imagined.  Hopes and dreams are pushed aside in favor of reality and necessity.  She had learned to appreciate every minute and not wish for time to move faster.  

 

Despite John’s cruelty, Hermione couldn’t help feeling just a bit grateful.  Even though he had taken advantage of her, lied to her, held her hostage, used her as a pin cushion, he had also helped her on numerous occasions.  Obviously, it was to his own benefit to do so, but she realized that without him around, she wouldn’t have made it to the hospital.  Odd, but she actually felt sorry for him.  However, the predominant emotion was relief to be away from him.  With him out of her life, her plan could revert back to the one that she had put in place years before – the one that had been pushed aside in the past few weeks.  John’s absence mixed with her recent reconciliation with Ron left her euphoric. The corners of her mouth tugged up just a bit as she turned the knob, peaking around the door.

 

“Ron?” she asked quietly.

 

His red, scarred back loomed before her, the sheet draped over his hips, tangled in a muscular leg that dangled off the bottom of the bed.  The tips of his ginger hair appeared damp, suggesting a fever.  Her stomach clenched knowing he had sacrificed so much for her.  She had been so internalized, dwelling on her own mortality, she’d overlooked all the signs.  Maybe overlooked wasn’t a fair assessment.  She’d been dealing with a lot at the time, however, both Ron’s words and actions had sent a clear enough message, but she tuned him out, turning his gestures of love to pity.  Hermione gulped down a large glass of shame with a hope chaser and walked over to Ron’s bedside, placing the bottle of potion on the bedside table.

 

The vision of him standing on the balcony, begging her not to go and see John, leapt back into her thoughts.  She felt obligated to go and, in fact, her visit had provided valuable information that might just cure Ron.  Indulging in a moment of pride, Hermione wanted to share the news with him and to tell him how well his Portkey idea worked, but she was afraid of the response.

 

His back rose and fell in a slow, steady pattern, somewhat raspy snores rumbling into the pillow.  Parker’s cough potion was at least allowing him to sleep for short bursts.  As Ron’s magic had gradually returned, this virus was getting a stiffer hold on him.  However, ever since he and Hermione had that talk in the kitchen, his outlook had vastly improved.  Even with feeling sick, he was smiling and happy to see her all the time.

  

Instantly, she knew her body had returned to normal, her heart fluttering wildly at the prospect of touching him.  Her finger tips reached out hesitantly and gently stroked over his freckled bicep.  In response, his hand whipped around to brush away the tickle on his skin and he snorted and wiggled into his pillow a bit deeper.

 

Sitting on the side of the bed, her eyes darted around the blue and white room not sure what to do first, how to approach him.  The two of them may have reconciled, and they’d obviously shared something very private, but she still felt hesitant approaching him.  The small jar on the bedside table contained the healing potion for his back and gave Hermione the idea for an ice-breaker.

 

  _What the heck, I could rub some of it on and then if he wakes up, it won’t be quite so awkward._

After all, she was just touching him for medicinal purposes, right?  After dipping two fingers into the salve, she gently brushed over the angriest of the red marks on his back, a shiver shooting down her spine in the process.  Gently, she worked her way around, running her other fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck as she coated another mark at the top of his back.

 

“Mmm.  That feels good,” he mumbled into his pillow, the cough absent.  Whatever Parker and Ginny had given him seemed to be helping alleviate some symptoms.

 

Hermione bit into her lower lip.  She wasn’t sure if Ron thought she was Ginny or even his mum.  Part of her didn’t want to speak.  If she did, there were several possible scenarios that might play out, one loving, one embarrassed, and one that might even lead to an argument or hurt feelings.  That one she dreaded.  But something urged her to show him the same care and affection he had given her in the past weeks.  Despite his own misgivings, he stayed with her in the hospital, came to get her for her healer visit, rescued her from the prison of her flat.  The least she could do was to let him know it was her – here – by his side when things really mattered.

 

A lot of bridges needed rebuilding, despite their recent confessions to each other.  Perhaps an apology might be the best way to start, even if it wasn’t her doing.   She had never actually told him she was sorry. 

 

“I’m so sorry this happened to you,” she whispered, slipping her fingers over his shoulder.  Even with Ginny’s explanation, she still felt these marks were her fault.

  

His breathing changed and he stiffened.  She knew that he recognized her voice.  However, he didn’t move away and she thought that was a good sign and decided to continue.  “I’m sorry for a lot of things, but more than that, I’m so grateful for what you did for me.  I realize I’ve never properly thanked you.”  

 

“You’re welcome.”  His voice was flat and he never moved.

 

She paused at his response, cleared her throat and tried to keep the conversation going along with the motion of her hands.  She might as well get it over with.  “Aren’t you going to ask me how it went with John?”

 

“I don’t need to ask.  I saw,” he muttered through what sounded like clenched teeth.  

 

“You saw?”

 

“I was there, but you didn’t know.”

 

  _No, I didn’t know.  Why didn’t Ginny tell me?  Wait, she must have thought I saw him.  What did he see?_

He still didn’t move, his back to her and somehow she got the impression that he wasn’t happy about what he witnessed.  

 

“Then you know that he refused to cooperate with anyone unless he got to see me again.  He’s been trying to figure out a way to turn himself into a wizard and he was using my blood for testing, trying to develop some sort of serum that would change him.  He’s really messed up, Ron.”

 

“Yeah, poor John.  Good thing you’re around to help him out, and whisper in his ear and hand him locks of your hair.”

 

Hermione recognized that.  It was sarcasm laced with a heavy dose of bitter jealousy.  “Stop it.  You’re being stupid.”

 

“Yeah, that’s me.  Stupid Ron.”

 

“Ronald Bilius Weasley.  You can just stop with the jealous routine.  I went to see him at the Ministry’s request, not because I wanted to.  He’s a bastard, alright?  Your instincts about him were right all along.  Besides, the lock of hair was _your_ idea.”

 

Ron turned to glare at her over his shoulder.  “My idea?  I never…”

 

“You suggested we use a Portkey to get him back.  It obviously had to be something that he’d keep with him.  Apparently, I remind him of his mother and he loved his mother’s hair.  So, I thought if I acted all sweet and gave him a lock, he’d treasure it and keep it with him.”

 

He rolled onto his back and then to his other side, shifting to face her.  “That was a Portkey?”

 

“Yes, and a rather difficult one, I might add.  You can thank your sister as I’m still restricted from even trying to use any magic.”  Ron’s head dipped.  Hermione recognized the apologetic look, but she still felt there was more to be said.  “Look, I realize that I was the stupid one allowing him into my life and controlling me like he did, I feel ashamed enough over the fact that I didn’t see the signs, but you also don’t understand his motivations.”

 

Ron cut her off.  “I don’t need to understand his motivations.  He’s a dickhead and he was hurting you.  That’s all that I need to know.”

 

Surprising her, he sat up, the sheet slipping around his hips.  Based on the fact she had yet to see a scrap of fabric or hint of elastic, Hermione was getting a pulsing sensation that Ron was only wearing nature’s gifts.  Hoping he hadn’t noticed her stare, she busied herself putting the lid back on the potion.

 

“No one is allowed to hurt you, Hermione.”  His head dipped for a second.  “Even me.  And I _did_ , numerous times, including just now.  I’m sorry and I want to fix it, I…”

 

He watched her for a second, but then reached for her hand and twined his fingers through hers.  Hermione stared at their joined hands for a shocked moment before returning to his face.  Their eyes locked.  His eyes softened; smiled at her even though the corners of his mouth only rose a fraction of an inch.  She couldn’t help but smile in return, all her rage and hurt leaving in one giant exhale. 

 

“It’s fixed.  We’re both sorry, but we’re moving on, right?”

 

“I want to very much.”

 

“So do I.  So, it’s done.  We can put it all behind us now.”  Ron’s tiny smile fell back to a frown, not making eye contact with her.  “What’s the matter now?  Why won’t you look at me?”

 

His eyes snapped up to hers, but still pained.  “I need to know something, but I’m afraid you’ll get angry with me if I ask.  I just feel like I can’t move on without knowing.”

 

Hermione thought for a moment.  It wouldn’t be the first time Ron had said something that irritated her.  So, why was he so concerned with this particular question?  “Well, I can’t guarantee that I won’t be upset by whatever you ask, not without knowing the context, but I’ll do my best to consider it.”

 

“I hate even talking about this, it’s embarrassing, but I just need to know.  And it’s not that I’m going to feel differently about you either way so I don’t want you to be afraid of your answer.  Even if, Merlin forbid, something happens, I’d still stick with you.”  Hermione watched him with irritated curiosity.  What in the world was on his mind?  “It’s more for…um…logistical purposes.”

 

“Logistical?”

 

“Your dickhead ex said something when we were fighting that day in your room.”

 

“He said a lot of things, most of which I’d never want to hear or repeat.  You shouldn’t think about any of it.  He’s insane.”

 

“I know I shouldn’t, but there’s just this one thing that’s been eating at me and… _please_ don’t be angry.  I really did think this time before I said anything.  I’m trying not to blurt out stupid stuff, I really am…”

 

“Ronald, I’m getting more angry that you’re asking me not to be angry than with the actual question.  Just ask.  I promise I won’t bite your head off.”  She kissed him as if to reinforce the truth behind that promise and Ron locked eyes with her for a length of one deep breath and spoke the question that had been gnawing on him.

 

“Did John take your virginity?”

 

It took her a stunned moment to respond.  She wanted to just blurt out ‘no’ but had to first get past the sting of hurt that his question brought to her chest.  Did he know her well enough?  Maybe not.  Why did he need to know this so badly if it really didn’t matter to him?  “You believed that?”

 

“I…no…I mean, I wasn’t sure.  I didn’t think you’d voluntarily do that with him, but I was worried that maybe he…you know…maybe he got you drunk or gave you some potion and then took advantage of you.  And you’d feel ashamed and wouldn’t say anything.  I know it’s stupid, but I always kind of thought that I’d be…it’s stupid.  I shouldn’t have even brought it up.  It just made me so angry.  I wanted to kill him when he said it and I just can’t keep from thinking about it.”

 

Hermione had thought about it as well, but only for a few seconds after John had spouted such ludicrous vulgarities.  She knew at once that John had only said it to anger Ron, but she didn’t realize it had been tormenting him to this degree.

 

She caressed his damp cheek with the back of her fingertips.  “As far as I know, you took it a few days ago.  I have to admit that I’ve been pretty out of it lately, but I think I would have known if John had done something like that.  I’d never let him do that to me willingly, you’ve got to know that.”

 

“I thought so and well…I just wondered because of the way you felt, when I…when I pushed in.  I thought I was your first.”

 

“I’m sure you were.  I was a little tender down there afterwards.”  She gently stroked his cheek, trying to lift the frown of worry that had creased the skin around his eyes.

 

“So, you aren’t angry with me?”  His face brightened, hopeful.

 

“No.  Are you angry with me?  I know you didn’t want me to go see him, but this was an opportunity to help you…”

 

“I’m not angry.  Just worried.  I-I want to protect you,” Ron blushed, looking down.  “I always have.  That may sound kind of old fashioned, but…”

 

“It’s chivalrous, just like wanting me to be your first, and I appreciate it.  We just have to learn to communicate better and you have to trust me.  We can’t hide things from one another.  That’s no way to form a relationship.”

 

Ron nodded, his smile widening.  “A relationship?”

 

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Hermione asked, confirming her own hopes.

 

“Oh, yes, very much.  And I promise to talk to you in the future and not jump to conclusions.”

 

“And I promise to listen to you and consider your feelings.”

 

He squeezed her hand and she brushed the fringe back from his temple.

 

“So, I didn’t screw it up?  I mean, we’re really together again?” Ron’s eyes sparkled with hope and anticipation.

 

Hermione nodded, a full smile on her face.  “Um…so, Ginny said she tried a new Pepper-Up potion.  How are you feeling?” she asked.

 

“Five minutes ago, I would have said shitty, but I feel a lot better now that I see you smiling.”  If felt as if years worth of heartache healed in that instant.

 

“Is that all it took?  Gee, I should’ve smiled weeks ago.”

 

Despite her best attempts to be casual and joke about the situation, she couldn’t take her eyes off of him and he seemed to reciprocate.  Finally, the silence and tense muscles in their cheeks seemed to become unbearable.  If one of them didn’t move or speak, they were going to end up locking lips.  Not that this was a bad scenario.  In fact, it was Hermione’s main goal, but there were other factors to discuss.  Their intimacy levels had to be weighed against health risks and benefits.  

 

“So, now that we’ve agreed to communicate better, I need to discuss something with you.”

 

“Sure.”  Ron pulled her down to sit on the edge of the bed, never releasing her hand, but tugging the sheet up and over his lap in the process.

 

“Um…Ginny has a theory.  She had some tests run on the victims of the virus and she found they all had really high counts.”

 

“Counts?”  He rubbed his thumb over the top of her hand, lifted it and kissed her palm.  His eyes left her face and began roving over the length of her arm.

 

“Yes, um…” a shiver bolted down her spine “…you know…Nuclidite counts.”

 

This time his hand reached up to tuck an errant strand of curls behind her ear and his hand lingered just a bit longer than usual.  “Alright.  So?”

 

“Um…” Hermione had to regroup after her heart skipped a beat.  “She thinks that having a lower count may weaken the virus.  It seems to be attaching itself to the nuclidites, so the less you have of those cells, the better chance you have of fighting it off.”

 

“Mm hmm.”  Ron looked a bit distracted and his eyes slipped to her mouth.  “You are so beautiful.”

 

He was so close to her.  “Wh…I…um…thank you, but we need to discuss this befo...” and he kissed her.

 

The rest of the discussion would have to wait because Hermione’s brain had just turned to a warm gelatinous goo as Ron’s fingers threaded through her hair.  Their tongues met and she nearly wet her knickers.  She had really missed his kisses.  They were distracting enough that Hermione couldn’t remember how she ended up on her back with Ron’s knee between her legs.

 

A loud voice shouted in her head to wake up and she wrenched her lips back, placing a gentle palm on his chest.  “Please, Ron…we have to talk about this.”

 

“Uh huh, I heard you.  Lower nuclidite count.”  He kissed her again, just a single soft peck but her stomach sunk to her knees.

 

“Yes, but Ginny hasn’t been able to figure out a way to lower the count except by us…”  She couldn’t say it.  “…you know.  We have to…”  His eyes were nearly eating her alive and his fingertips were brushing over her stomach having found the hem of her shirt.

 

“Sounds good to me.”  Ron’s lips found her jaw, then her collarbone.

 

Hermione was becoming frantic.  She desperately wanted him to keep going.  That first time with him was still fresh in her mind and she definitely wanted to experience it again, especially now that she could move.  And yet, that pesky voice kept screaming for her to get a grip.  Ron’s fingers skimmed her rib cage and Hermione bolted up.

 

“Ronald!  You’re not listening.”  That seemed to get his attention, his eyes searched hers for an explanation. 

 

“You don’t want this?” he asked, his eyes frowning ever so slightly.

 

“It’s not that.”

 

“This will help you, Hermione.”  He coughed.  “You’ll get stronger, get your magic back.”

 

“This isn’t about me.”

 

“Yes, it is.  That’s the whole reason I did it, to cure you.”

 

“The whole reason?” Hermione couldn’t help but ask.  After all, Ron may have been trying to save her life, but she knew there had to have been a little excitement in the mix.

 

A rosy glow returned to the tips of his ears and she knew he understood her inference.  “Yes.  This wasn’t some immature testosterone driven trick to get into your knickers.”

 

“Oh, so you didn’t enjoy it at all, right?  The whole thing was purely medicinal in nature,” she teased.

 

“I didn’t say that.  Of course I enjoyed it, but not in the same way I would if there wasn’t all this baggage hanging over us.”  Ron picked at the corner of the sheet, a slight frown lining his brow.  “I know you didn’t get much from it.  I mean…pleasure-wise and stuff.”

 

Hermione wanted to tell him he was wrong, but after their discussion about honesty, she didn’t want to lie.  “I really wasn’t well enough to enjoy anything, Ron.  That’s not your fault.  What you did for me…”  Hermione’s throat nearly locked up.  He’d saved her life and here he was worrying about whether the experience was good for her or not.

 

Looking back up, his hand stroked down her arm.  “Still, I feel like I let you down.  I want it to be wonderful between us.”  The hurt and shame had left his eyes, instead they softened, despite the slightly dark rings developing underneath.  His grip on her arm increased just a bit as he pulled her toward him, his head tipping to the side as his eyes slipped to her lips.  “I want…I want to…”

 

The sound of her own heavy breathing got louder, his lips just barely brushing hers.  “I want to also, but…” the warm moisture from his breath made her shiver, but she tried to stay focused.  “But  you’ll get weaker if your count drops too much.  You could end up like I was just a few days ago.”  Her hand slipped up to cup his jaw.  “I couldn’t live with myself if I did this to you.”

 

He backed up just enough to focus on her face.  “You just said that lowering my count could prevent the virus from getting me.”

 

“Um…yes…that’s what Ginny thinks, but it could also leave you a Squib!”

 

“So?”

 

She sat up a bit straighter and examined his face, sure he must be joking.  His expression remained still and serious.  “You must be delirious.”  She pressed the back of her hand to his sweaty forehead, but it felt cool.

 

He shifted closer, taking both of her hands in his.  “Hermione, I made my mind up about this days ago.  I knew the risks when I came to you that morning.  It doesn’t matter if I end up a Squib or a Muggle.  I’d give up all the magic in the world and live a Muggle life, if you’d have me.  Even if you get your magic back and I don’t, it wouldn’t matter.  Being a part of your life is more important than how I live it.  I could be a good Muggle.  I’ve been using the laptop Harry got me.  I learned how to search for stuff and I read about airplanes and…”

 

“But, Ron…you’re a pure blood wizard!  This is your way of life!  Your family would be devastated.  Don’t you realize what you’d be losing?”

 

“I wouldn’t be losing anything.”  His hands slipped around her head, his eyes radiating truth and conviction.  “I’d be gaining something much more precious than magic.”

 

How could she answer that?  She was struck mute, but felt the water build behind her eyes as he drew the pad of his finger down her jaw.

 

“I love you, Hermione.  I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.  I want you to be whole.”  He turned his head and coughed, but came right back to her eyes.  “I want _us_ to be whole.  Being without you these past few years has been horrible and I know this was my fault, but I’ll do anything to keep us together.”

 

“I…”  Hermione couldn’t help it.  She was going to cry.  She was going to melt into a blubbering mass at any second, but first she had to say it.  

 

“I love you, too!  This was my fault, too.  I’m so sorry.”  And there she went, tears down the face, nose running.  She searched for a tissue, but Ron reached for the box first.  Holding it up for her, she pulled out several squares and blew her nose loudly before looking back up at him.  Hermione wasn’t sure how she hadn’t noticed, but Ron’s fingertips were skimming over her bare skin at the bottom of her shirt, his eyes gazing with wonderment over what he felt.  His signals were loud and clear; he wanted her.  But she still felt guilty.  What if this was too taxing on his system?  Maybe she should have him lie down and take care of things herself.  It struck her that maybe this is how Ron felt just days before while trying to persuade her of the same thing.

 

The structure of her thoughts suddenly shifted from should they do this to _could_ they do this?  Somehow, the first question had been settled.  

 

“Do you feel strong enough?”  New creases seemed to be lining her brow and around her eyes, she felt such deep concern.  

 

And what was Ron doing?  He was grinning at her.  That adorable, quirky grin that lit up his sapphire eyes in a way that made her want to snog him senseless.  

 

“Planning on wearing me out?”  Hermione couldn’t reply to that, but her cheeks hurt from holding back the smile that replaced the frown.  “Ginny and Parker have been pumping me full of potions since I came back from the Ministry.  They don’t last long, but they do the trick.  I feel pretty normal right now, except for a little bruise on my leg.  I guess I kind of hit it when I fell.  But, good news, the fever broke.”

 

“Oh, well I guess that’s good.”

 

“So, do I have to drink that awful bonding potion again for this to work?” Ron’s eyes darted to the jar on the table, a little crinkle of joy around his eyes.

 

She couldn’t speak, but managed a deliberate nod.  Her brain was still busy processing the ‘I love you’ and the combination of potions that it hadn’t quite figured out the upcoming ‘we’re about to make love’ insinuation that Ron had just testified to before grabbing the potion bottle.

 

Tipping it back, he swallowed and shook his head as the heavy serum found its way down his throat before placing the jar back on the table.  “Yuk…well, done with that.  Hopefully, it’s the last time I’ll have to drink that horrible stuff!”  

He scooted to the side of the bed and got up, the sheet slipping away to reveal all of God’s gifts.  Hermione’s eyes grew wide as saucers staring at the incredibly tight bare arse that strode over to the bedroom door and turned the lock.  Any other time she would have wondered why he didn’t just pick up his wand and Imperturb the door, but when he turned back she could have cared less.   Hermione thought he was smiling, but her eyes were glued to another part of his anatomy that she’d only seen once before.  That time she was a bit too weak to really look, but _oh my god!_   

He shrugged, still grinning.  “I figure if I’m going to be a Muggle, I need to get used to doing things the non-magical way.”  He walked back, ducking down to try and get her eyes to meet his. 

 

“You….you’re…I…”  She finally met his eyes, trying to stop the canaries from flying around her stomach.

 

There was a sentence waiting to be formed in her head, but she couldn’t manage to put all the pieces together.  Ron seemed to do it for her, apparently taking great joy in the moment.  “Like what you see?”

 

“Oh…um…” Hermione wondered if she had just been transported to some equatorial country; the heat moving over her skin was intense.  Curiosity kept enticing her to catch another glance, but instead her head and eyes looked anywhere but at Ron’s naked body.

 

“Hermione, you’re blushing.”

 

“No, I’m not.”

 

He smiled and threaded his hands back into her hair.  “Yes, you are and it’s adorable.”  The moment his lips touched hers, the sun exploded, that heat traveling to places that are normally never exposed to natural light.  Then his tongue dipped into her mouth and she felt herself tipping backward.  With predator-like stealth, Ron climbed on top of her, his soft, full lips occupying her thoughts as his fingers fumbled with the button on her denims.

 

“You’re wearing far too much clothing,” he whispered as his hand slipped under her waistband, the zipper slowly notching apart as he crept south.  His fingertips stroked over the top of her knickers and Hermione couldn’t keep the sounds of arousal from escaping her lips.

 

Ron kissed her neck, then nibbled her ear. “If this is my last wizarding hour, then the experience ought to be magical, right?”

 

“Don’t say that.”  Hermione pushed him back, fantasy interrupted.  The pain and fear in that statement stung with finality.  “You’re going to be fine.”  The moisture crept back into her eyes.

 

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean it that way.”  He withdrew his hand, pulling her close into his chest.  “Don’t cry, sweetheart.  I just meant that I want this to be better than the last time.  To be memorable for us.”  

 

“You make it sound like this will be our last time together.” Hermione sniffed, still snuggled into his chest.

 

Ron didn’t speak for a moment and Hermione wondered if he was considering the truth behind that statement or just beating himself up for ruining the moment.  Finally, he released his grip and propped himself up on an elbow, studying her with unfailing passion, his eyes reading her own, breath erratic.  “I plan on spending eternity with you, Hermione.”  His words had a calming effect and she relaxed from her horrified grip.

 

He stroked her hair lovingly, with the comfort of a parent assuring a child, but then his fingers threaded into it and within seconds his mouth was back to lavishing attention on her neck.

 

“I don’t want to wait any longer.  Please.  Let me make love to you.”  

 

For being ill, Ron’s strength didn’t waver as he grabbed the back of her neck and covered her mouth with his.  This kiss was demanding and exciting, and Hermione felt her nipples harden in response.

 

For being a relative rookie in the sex department, Ron’s kisses were fantastic.  All kinds of bells and whistles went off in her nether regions.  He pulled her closer, his hard body pressing into her as he drew in a deep breath.  His lips grazed her ear as he spoke.  “I know I’m still learning, but I want this to be good for you.”  Slipping under her chin, he moved to the other ear.  “Tell me how to make you feel good.”

 

Someone in the room moaned and she wasn’t sure, but it might have been her.  She had to just concentrate on breathing for a moment or she was afraid she’d faint.  It must have taken a little too long.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“Um…I’m not sure.  I think my heart might have just stopped.”

 

Ron’s lips moved down to the break in her shirt, right over her sternum and kissed her.  “No, it’s still beating.”

 

“Oh, well…that’s good then, right?”

 

“Very good.”  His fingers pushed the fabric to the side, his lips now over the top swell of her breast.

 

Hermione felt something hard and stiff press into her stomach and sucked in a raw sounding breath.  Here she was fully dressed, minus an open pair of denims, and Ron stood completely naked and obviously aroused.  It was illogical to feel so apprehensive when they had just been together two days earlier.  He’d seen her naked and more than that, he had gone through with it despite her terrible condition.  Now she felt relatively good.  A little self-conscious over her less than curvaceous appearance and still graying hair.  But, the desire and energy were there.  She wanted to pull her clothes off, to feel the heat of his skin next to hers, but she just couldn’t get her arms to move.  

 

Just then Ron’s fingers started flipping the buttons out of their holes.  Her prayers were answered.

 

“Ron?”

 

“Mmm.”  Her shirt now splayed open with Ron’s lips having moved to her belly button, his tongue dipping in and sending a shock of electricity straight to her toes.  She forgot the question she wanted to ask, but tried to refocus.  Still no words came out.

 

Instead, a warm hand tugged on the waistband of her denims and all questions were forgotten.  “I like you this way,” said Ron.

 

“This way?” she asked numbly, all of her blood scrambling frantically in the direction of his hand.

 

He tugged and she lifted her hips for him as he scrunched the fabric down her legs.  “Yeah, soft and relaxed.  Not so wild and aggressive.  Although I guess that could be fun.”  

 

“What do you mean?” she asked as Ron pulled one leg free and then the other.

 

He tossed the denims to the side and met her eyes.  “You don’t remember, do you?”  She shook her head.  “Well, never mind.  It doesn’t matter.  I love you either way.”  Ron smiled and lay back on the bed beside her, his fingers now trailing over the newly exposed skin.

 

But his statement had her bothered.  “What do you mean?  I want to know.  What don’t I remember?  John said something about me using foul language and acting like an animal.”  The smile was replaced by a frown and Ron looked like he was thinking really hard about something.  “It must not be good if it’s this hard to say.”

 

He smoothed her hair back, his eyes studying her face lovingly, but with a small degree of concern.  His touch was very calming and she suddenly wondered if he was doing that for a reason.  “Ron?”

 

“It’s just that you had a reaction to the first transfer.  You sort of went nuts.  Twice.  You bit Carrow in the ankle the first time.  Then, the second time…well…you kind of attacked me and Harry had to drag you off of me, but he had a hard time holding on to you because you…um…well, I mean you kind of cracked him in the face and gave him a nosebleed.  And then Parker had to sedate you.”

 

“I’ll have to apologize to Harry.”  She thought back, frowning.  “Is that why Harry was acting so odd yesterday morning?  He wouldn’t look at me, like he was embarrassed or something.”

 

“I’m sure it was nothing.  Just forget about it and relax.”  Ron quickly delved back into her neck,  slipping on top of her again, his hand gliding over her ribcage and cupping her breast.  He drew his knee up, forcing her legs to part, the pad of his thumb brushing over her nipple.  “Does this feel good?” he whispered into her ear, rolling the dusty rose peak between his fingers.

 

“Oh, sweet Merlin…”

 

“I’ll take that as a yes.”  The fringe on his forehead tickled her skin at he moved down and then his lips latched on to her breast and something else very stiff and smooth brushed her leg.  She couldn’t help but squirm at the sensation.  Without really thinking about it, she reached over and wrapped her hand around him.  He immediately paused his action and looked at her.

 

“Is this alright?” she asked, gently brushing her thumb over the tip.

 

“Oh, yeah.”  His eyes rolled back for a second before he dipped back down to her breast.  A calloused finger slipped under the edge of her knickers.  She knew he had touched her before, but her now healthy body seemed to react much stronger this time.  No longer was she just a body being manipulated, now she was a willing and very excited participant.

 

A cool burst of air met the delicate skin between her legs as he pulled her knickers to the side, his warm fingers parting her curl-covered folds and exploring the moist pink delights underneath.  It was impossible not to squirm, her muscles clenching as his finger rolled over her clit.  The tingling sensations overwhelmed all other thoughts and she released her grip on him and reached her hands above her head, gripping the brass dowels on the headboard.

 

Maybe she had inadvertently given him some signal to advance, because he quickly slid down her body and skimmed the knickers down her legs, flinging them over his shoulder. Within a second, his head was nestled between her thighs, his arms wrapped around her hips, hands clasped tightly over her stomach.  

 

“What are you…oh, my god!”  She arched in pleasure, crying out as the moist heat from his tongue dipped into her and drew upward.

 

Her grip tightened on the bed, her body writhing with pleasure as he held her firmly against his mouth: sucking, licking, teasing her to the point of insanity.  “Oh!”  She tried to wriggle free of his grip, not because she wanted him to stop, but unwillingly obeying the impulses of a million nerve endings that tried to jerk her away.  “Oh…oh…oh…dear Merlin.”  He pulled her back toward him, dipping into her folds.

 

A gush of something warm and smooth flowed out of her, but Ron’s tongue lapped it up and she couldn’t suppress the lustful sounds repeating out of her as she rocked against his insistent mouth.  Just when she thought she might pass out from the intensity of it, he released his grip, stroked his hands up her legs and pushed them open, bending her nearly in half.  It wasn’t painful, but she realized how ultimately exposed she was to him.  Somehow, that thought just added to the excitement and she had to look, to watch him as he gazed at her, his eyes the hungriest sapphire as they absorbed the forbidden fruit before them.  His lips parted; pink, swollen and covered in the luscious evidence of her desire for him.

 

Scooting up toward her, like a man on a mission, he sat spread eagle, pulling her hips against him.  Then she felt his finger again.  It stroked her, but this time it flowed like honey through her lubricated lips.  Once.  “Oh.”  Twice.  “Ah!”  And then it pressed.  

 

“Is this alright?” he asked, more as if asking for forgiveness than permission as his fingertip was already inside of her.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Tell me if anything feels bad.  I’ll stop.”  His voice was breathy with desire.

 

His finger pushed in farther and then slipped out, then in deeper and out again.  “Fuck, you feel so silky inside.”

 

“Oh…”

 

“Does that hurt?” he asked, pausing his hand.

 

“No.  Please don’t stop.  For Merlin’s sake, don’t stop.”

 

Ron obviously took instruction well and resumed his movement.  One digit continued to invade her, slick and easy.  He was extremely gentle, his other caressed her thigh as it moved north and then she gasped.  His other hand settled just about the center of her swollen nerves, his thumb carefully rotating over it.  “Oh, yes.  Keep doing that.”

 

He did and she squirmed.  “Tell me when you’re close, Hermione.”

 

She couldn’t answer, but managed a shaky nod.  The pictures in her head were escorting her through the most delicious of fantasies; the same ones she had dreamt of, daydreamed of and prayed for over the past few years.  It was as if she were a bystander watching Ron torture her naked body, his long slick finger pumping her, his erection poised and ready.

 

A scintillating tingle began to build deep within her.  It grew and grew, her thoughts progressing her fantasy to the next step and Ron seemed to read her and follow suit.  His finger slipped out, but then just as quickly, she felt something else.  Very smooth, but much bigger, sliding up and down her sensitive folds, slipping in her lubricant and pressing against her.  She knew what was coming next, an intense craving to be filled battling in her head with a still immature fear of what she would feel.  His thumb picked up speed, rubbing her frantically as she felt the thickness of Ron’s erection pushing in.  

 

He didn’t retreat or pause, insistent that she accept him and he groaned, grabbing her hips to pull them together.  She had no time to adjust, to wrap her head around what he had done, for his finger was back rubbing with concentrated effort.  “Come for me, Hermione.  Come now, sweetheart.”  His words only encouraged the sensation, his voice melding with the fantasy Ron who hovered over her, pumping frantically.  “Come with me inside you.”  His head flipped back with a grunt and then a very insistent, “Do it, love.  I want to feel you.”

 

A mad earth-shattering vibration rushed up the back of her thighs, and then… “OH!”  The world spun off its axis, her muscles clamping down hard, over and over, the pulse rocking her.  She expected it to stop, wondering if her heart could keep pace with the intensity of it, but he kept rubbing and pressing on her.  He wouldn’t let up and she kept shaking, now feeling the fullness of him as he thrust his entire length into her.

 

“Oh, fuck, Hermione!  You feel fantastic!”

 

She was about to lose her mind and reached down to grab his hand, to make him cease, but he  slipped back, gripped her hips with both hands and pulled her to him.  She throbbed again as he slid past her center.  “Oh, please!”

 

Then just as unexpectantly, his arms were around her waist, pulling her up into his lap, his member still buried within her.  There wasn’t time to detox from the all-consuming high, he lifted her up and brought her down onto him and she screamed as her ultra-sensitive nerves brushed over his thickness again.  The new angle only initiated new feelings, intensifying her cries, her eyes scrunching up with each thrust.

 

He grunted, wrapping his arms around her as she wrapped hers around his head.  His lips hunted for her breast, finally latching onto a nipple as he pumped his hips up into her, finding a rhythm.  Hermione’s head fell back, her hands clasped behind his neck as he thrust up, her breasts bouncing from the impact.  This felt so much better than her first time.  She didn’t want it to end and luckily, Ron’s stamina seemed up to the test.  The bed creaked as they bounced and for a second she wondered if the rest of the household was aware of the goings on in the upstairs guest room, but the bolt of pleasure shooting up through her was enough to make her forget anything else.

 

Ron’s speed picked up suddenly.  “Oh, god…!” he roared.  Perhaps it was the lust giving him energy, she wasn’t sure, but in one smooth move, he rolled her onto her back, pulled her legs up and leaning on her thighs, drove her hips into the mattress with one final push.  He shook from the force of his orgasm, grunting in rhythm with each ejaculating burst.  Like her own climax, his seemed to last longer than expected, but unlike her own, she noticed an intense heat building in her belly.  She didn’t recall this happening during their first bonding, but perhaps she had been too weak to notice.  The muscles within her, surrounding him, accepting him; they pulsed again, almost as if a second orgasm were ripping through her, taking over control.  But as they clenched, the heat increased and Ron cried out with each wave, his voice filled with a sort of terror-filled ecstasy.

 

Somewhat scared at the sensation, and hearing his impassioned wails, she tried to slip free of him, but he held her down just as she involuntarily clamped around him.  “Oh!  Ron!” she panted, “let go!”

 

“No!”  He grunted through his teeth.  “Take more ‘Mione!  Take it all!”  His biceps burst within his skin as they held her legs back, his body now shaking as he kept himself sheathed within her.  She finally understood what was happening.  Her body was drawing out his magic, pulling it from him, the tiny cells encased in the life-giving seed he poured into her.  And he was giving it all to her!

 

“Ron, stop!  Please!”  She was frightened at his appearance, sweat-covered fringe sticking to his forehead, his eyes squeezed tight, veins pulsing in his temple, his arms shaking with the effort to hold himself up.  His whole body was tensed as if unable to come down from the peak of his release, every muscle locked in the grips of an aphrodisiacal convulsion.  The heat now filled her entire torso, drifting into her legs.  She could feel the magic flowing like lava through her again, slow and steady, an uncontrolled breeze swirling around them as her skin tingled from head to foot.  Her only comparison was to an electric current traveling through her veins.  It was so exhilarating, she nearly forgot where she was.  

 

Then, just as dramatically, everything fell quiet.  He was free of her, but she didn’t remember him slipping out.  

 

Nothing made sense.  She couldn’t get her bearings, her head swimming, overrun with indescribable feelings.  Once again, his voice brought her home.  His loving, low, breathy voice. 

 

“’Mione, look at me,” he panted.

 

When she opened her eyes, it was like looking into the face of love.  His flushed cheeks were smiling, his eyes serene, his breath coming fast; watching her as if she were the end of his being.  “I love you.”

 

Abruptly, he collapsed onto his side, sinking into the pillow, a smile still on his face, but his body lax and lifeless.  Only the labored rise and fall of his chest kept her pinned to the earth.  

 

“Ron?”  


	25. Chapter 25 - Revelations

  
Author's notes: Just a few chapters to go.  Thanks Indie for your fab beta skills and to all my readers!  Enjoy!  


* * *

Chater 25 – Revelations

 

It was another long, sleepless night and Hermione found herself in Harry’s kitchen, sipping tea and reading a book Ginny had brought home.  Honestly, she was just sitting and thinking as much as reading.  Wizard Biology was not one of the few classes she had studied at university and so the topic was fascinating.  Besides, the motivation to learn eclipsed all other pursuits at the moment.  She did have to admit, however, that when first picking it up, the book’s only purpose was to provide a little calm in an otherwise stress-filled day.

 

Ron’s post-intercourse collapse really scared her.  After slamming on some clothes and a panicked run to get Healer Parker, she wasn’t sure if her heart beat would ever return to normal.  Then she had to suffer through a very hurried and embarrassing conversation about their love-making experiment and how she had hoped reducing Ron’s count would give him a fighting chance against the virus.  After a quick exam, Parker assured her that Ron was stable.  The quick drop in his level of magic had left him drained and exhausted, similar to how she had felt days earlier.  He would need to sleep.

 

Parker then tried to lighten the exchange by joking that perhaps Hermione should stay away from men if this was how she affected them.  Another test revealed that Hermione did indeed show trace amounts of the virulent cells in her system, but not enough to make any damaging impact.  He asked Hermione if she would give him permission to write about this in a medical journal.  After agreeing to keep their names anonymous, Hermione had agreed and Parker quickly drew a blood sample from both of them and rushed out to test them at the hospital.  Hermione sat on the edge of the mattress and watched Ron sleep until finally curling up beside him and dozing off.

 

The cocktail of potions had run their course through Ron’s system a few hours later.  His coughing woke her and she slid another dose of the cooling potion down his throat, stroked the hair back from his temple and kissed him before sulking into the kitchen.  

 

Based on the surge of heat in her body and familiar tingle, Hermione knew her magic was back.  It was undeniable, exhilarating and empowering.  For the first time in weeks, she carried her wand with her, waiting for the right moment to test her conclusions and relishing the sensation of health that seemed to have returned to her.  Hermione chuckled at the image of Sleeping Beauty or Snow White waking after a long sleep to find their handsome prince, and here she was awake after contemplating an eternal rest; her own white knight, having rescued her, now deserving of his own sleep.

 

Ginny’s book had been resting on the table, waiting for its next reader and she picked it up, quickly scanned the table of contents and flipped to what looked like a promising chapter.  Nervous energy must have been what kept her awake as she waited for the results of the tests.  After all, it wasn’t the herbal tea or the overly technical reading.  However, she doubted that any drink or potion would ever have the same rejuvenating affect on her as the experiences of the past two weeks.  The once depressed and dismal outlook on life that had haunted her evaporated with memories of that sunrise broom ride.  Up until this moment, she never realized the impact of Ron’s actions that morning, the plea from him that made her want to hold on and the truth behind his heartfelt words.  

 

She was so engrossed in her own thoughts, she didn’t notice the black-robed man hovering in the doorway.  She jerked at his sudden movement.

 

“Oh, Merlin, Harry.”

 

“Sorry.  Didn’t mean to scare you.”

 

“Are you just getting home?” she asked, finally noticing his weary face and drooping eyes.  It was well past two in the morning.

 

 “Yeah.  Long day.  Still haven’t found Carrow or Diane Randolph, but we have leads.  The next shift took over and Kingsley insisted I go home and get some sleep.”  He yawned and shuffled towards her.  “So, why are you still up?”  

 

“Need you even ask?”

 

Pulling out the chair, Harry sunk hard onto the cushion.  “No, I guess not.  So, how’s Ron?  Any improvement?”

 

“We’ll know soon.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Parker is running some more blood tests.”

 

“Did something change?”

 

Hermione had barely recovered from the embarrassment of repeating this to Parker and now Harry wanted all the gory details.  “Kind of.”  She looked down, swirling the remains of her tea.  “Ron and I…um, we sort of tried an experiment…”  Did she really have to say this?

 

A single eyebrow arched up revealing a tired, but still bright jade iris.  “Oh.  You two um…” Harry searched for a word, “…bonded again?”

 

She grinned.  “That’s a very technical way of putting it, but yes, you get the idea.”

 

“So, um…how was it?”

 

Hermione tilted her head at him questioningly.  

 

“I don’t mean like _that_.  I mean…I take it that Parker is running all these tests to see if your count has gone up?  You look really good.”

 

“I suppose, but that’s not what I was thinking.  We were trying to get Ron’s count to drop.  Ginny is sure that lowering his count will impact the ability of the virus to attach itself and to thrive.”

 

Harry’s sleepy eyes still radiated concern for his best mate as he chewed his lower lip and nodded slowly.  “Seems like just days ago, we thought we were going to lose _you_ and now…”

 

This time it was Hermione’s turn to worry her lip.  Her heart just wasn’t strong enough to contemplate losing what she had finally gained, even though she knew it was still a possibility.  She must have looked really concerned because Harry suddenly had both of her hands in his.

 

“I’m sorry for being so pessimistic.  I didn’t mean to upset you.  You look really, really great, your cheeks are pink again and I’m sure with you back to health and on the job, Ron’s going to pull through just fine.  He’s a strong man and he has so much to live for.”  He paused, watching her for a moment as if contemplating whether he should continue or not.  “Do you know how worried he was about you?  He didn’t have to say a word and I would’ve still known how he felt.  The man loves you so much.  Don’t ever doubt that.”  He emphasized it with a squeeze to her hands.

 

Hermione still couldn’t find words.  Her throat seemed to be swollen with guilt, fear and unimaginable grief just waiting to grab hold.

 

“And he’s lucky to _have_ you,” Harry added.  Her eyes snapped up to meet his, still bent with concern, but appreciative of the friendship she had in the man beside her.  

 

“He’s lucky to have _you_ , Harry.”  She kissed his cheek.  “ _I’m_ lucky to have you.”  Then she remembered the earlier conversation about how she had broken Harry’s nose.  The man had done so much for them both.  He was exhausted and yet never stopped trying, never stopped putting forth everything he had to help both of them.  “Harry, I wanted to apologize to you.”

 

“For what?”

 

“Ron told me about what happened.  I don’t remember any of it, but he said I kind of went wild and I broke your nose.”

 

“Oh, that…um…don’t worry about it.”

 

“He told me how you had to drag me off of him and how…well, I’m just so embarrassed.”

 

Harry’s eyes grew wide, a degree of panic notching up on his face and Hermione wasn’t sure of the cause, but he looked like a man about to bare his soul as he quickly let go of her hands.  “I’m really sorry Hermione.  I didn’t mean to touch you like that, it was totally inappropriate, but you were out of control and I was just trying to pull you off of him.  I mean I walked in the room because there was this horrible noise and we were worried.  I had no idea you’d be naked.”

 

“What?  What do you mean naked?” Hermione blurted out, horrified.

 

“I thought you said Ron…” all the color drained from his face.  “Oh, no….oh, shite.  I…I’m sorry.  Oh, hell, Ron’s going to murder me.”  He picked up the pace, now unable to look at her.  “Look, he didn’t even want me to look at you, but I had to subdue you somehow and…if it means anything to you, Ron was really upset.  He wanted to pummel me right there.”

 

Hermione was stunned, but still needing to make sure she understood what had transpired.  “I was naked.”  Harry’s avoiding looks over the past few days now made perfect sense.  “And you had to grab me.”  She noticed a large lump slide past his Adam’s apple and she got another visual that made her skin crawl and her cheeks flush.  “And pull me off of Ron because I was attacking him.”  More nods from Harry along with a blush that would rival the pinkest rose.  “As in s-e-x-u-a-l-l-y attacking him?”  Harry didn’t so much nod, but Hermione understood his confirmation.

  

“Oh, Merlin.  And then I broke your nose.”

 

She wasn’t sure, but Harry might have slipped into a temporary coma, his pupils maxed out as he stared at the table top in a daze.  Feeling sorry for him, she slipped her hand over his.  The skin to skin contact must have snapped him from his trance.  

 

“I’m really sorry, Hermione.  I tried not to touch anything important, you know.  I’ll never tell…I’ll get my memory wiped if you want me to.”

 

“No, Harry.  You did what you had to do.  Yes, I’m embarrassed, but if anyone besides Ron was going to see me like that, I’m glad it was you and not some stranger.”

 

“I tried not to look…”

 

“Sure you did,” she managed a slight grin, trying to put a positive spin on what would otherwise be a mortifying experience.

 

“I did!  Parker did, too.”

 

“Parker saw me naked, too?” she squeaked.  _Now_ it was mortifying.

 

“Just for a few seconds.  I had my arms wrapped around you and Ron had your legs and Parker gave you a sedative, but then Ron covered you up right away.  But Parker’s a healer.  He’s probably seen gobs of naked women.”

 

Hermione had a sudden urge to crawl under a rock and never come out.  At least she couldn’t remember any of it.  However, she had no doubt that other memories were quite clear - all those concerned and awkward glances still chewing on her.  She rested her head in both hands on the table, unable to look at Harry knowing what she now knew.

 

“Harry, tell me the truth.  Did I have any of these…um…episodes in front of any other people?  I mean have others seen me…disposed?”

 

“Others?”

 

“Possibly the Aurors in your office?”

 

No answer.  Hermione couldn’t bear to look up.  “Harry…please, tell me.”

 

“Sort of,” he exhaled.  “You weren’t completely naked, but you’ve been somewhat revealing in front of most of my Auror squad.”

 

“Oh, no,” she mumbled.  

 

“Twice,” he added and then cringed at her response.

 

“Oh, bloody hell!”  The occasion seemed to call for a bit of tainted language.

 

Harry’s hand felt warm on her arm.  “I wouldn’t be too worried.  I’ve got a good group of men.  They understand and they weren’t gawking or anything.  Most of them were quite concerned about you.  Besides…you know that Ron and I would put them in their place if anyone did or said anything inappropriate about you.”

 

“I know Harry.”  She finally uncovered her face, glancing at him for the briefest of moments.  “I just feel like I need to dress in turtlenecks, long robes and sunglasses for the rest of my life.”

 

Peripherally, she saw Harry grin.  “I don’t think Ron would be too keen on that.”

 

That made _her_ grin and at last the tension lifted.  Harry yawned deeply, the adrenaline from their heated conversation now ebbing away.

 

“Oh, well, I probably looked pretty awful anyway.  Do you remember the old Bride of Frankenstein movie?”  She lifted a long lock of gray hair from her temple as corroborating evidence. 

 

“It’s not so bad.  Barely noticeable.”

 

She arched an eyebrow.  “On top of that, I think I’ve dropped about two sizes worth in the past few weeks.”  

 

“Yeah, you’ve lost a little of your bum.”

 

That surprised her and she was forced to hold back a smile when she saw Harry’s eyes twinkle ever so slightly.  “Missed it, have you?”

 

“Me?  No.  I only have my eyes on Ginny’s bum.  Noticing yours was only a comparison.”  He smiled and turned, walking toward the staircase, but she heard his mumbled commentary.  “You haven’t lost much of your tits,” his blush as bright as his laugh.

 

“Harry James Potter!” she whispered, using her wand for the first time in weeks, sending a pinching spell at Harry’s arse.

 

He jumped with a squeak and looked back at her in shock, finding her wand pointed right at him.

 

“Magic’s back,” she smiled.

 

*** 

 Arriving back at the flat, John glanced around before entering the building.  A light rain had started to fall so the street was nearly empty.  Two men stood outside a pub about a block away and based on their dress and the obvious fact they were standing in the rain, John suspected they were wizards assigned to watching him.  It didn’t surprise him a bit, but he had been lawfully released so what did he have to worry about?  He was sure that with a little ingenuity, he’d be able to elude these followers if he wanted to.  Why weren’t they in hiding?  Maybe they wanted him to know he was being watched?  Was this just part of their scare tactics? 

It was clear that he needed to find a new place to live, one that wasn’t tied to Hermione and under constant surveillance.  It wouldn’t be the first time he had to move all of his equipment and start over again.  Stepping into the flat, he flipped all the locks and wedged a chair under the knob, not really knowing if it would make a difference, but it did give him the smallest peace of mind. 

Marching directly into his room, John was anxious to check the results of his latest test.  He had no shame what-so-ever in the fact he had played his ‘magic’ card with the authorities.  That was Arty’s fault for letting it slip that their world was such a big secret!  It was better than having a ‘get out of jail free’ card.  Of course, he’d never had to use it before, but he did discover that it worked quite well.  After all, he was free and back to his old ways in less than forty eight hours. 

What met him when he opened the door brought a burst of fury.  The room was empty.  The bed remained and a duffle bag of his clothing lie strewn over the quilt, but all of his equipment, his samples, everything was gone.  

“Fuck it all to hell!”  He marched out of the room, storming around the flat, checking to see if anything may have been left behind or stored elsewhere, but it appeared the flat had been thoroughly searched.  “How could I be so stupid?”  Obviously, Potter and Weasley had come back or sent their moron followers to search his things.  Arty assured him that the flat was safe, but clearly it wasn’t.  And now, all his years’ work was probably sitting in a storage warehouse or science lab in some secure magical location.  After denting the drywall in Hermione’s room with his fist, he was preparing to leave the flat and hunt down Arty when some scratching noises alerted him to an owl’s arrival at the window. 

He knew of only one person that would be contacting him in this manner and he took the envelope from the bird and shoo’d him away, too angry and uncaring to appreciate the creature that had delivered it.  The note unfolded with ease.  Odd.  Questioning the validity of the seal, he glanced out the window and noted how the owl swooped down and landed on a perch just outside the adjacent building.  He was certain that Harry’s spy network had intercepted it.  However, after scanning over the note from Arty, he felt relieved that the instructions said to come to the place they had first met, a location none of the others would know.  Now he just had to lose the tail. 

A nagging little voice still told him that he shouldn’t go, only because those jerks in the dark red robes wanted him to.  They wouldn’t be so insistent if it didn’t mean something to them.  Still, his own needs and Arty’s insistent tenor convinced him to make the trip.  After a quick change of clothes, he marched into the kitchen and dumped out the contents of the cookie jar, several twenty pound notes falling out.  It was nearly the last of his cash, but it would get him where he needed to be.  He grabbed Hermione’s khaki trench coat and pulled it on.  It was a bit small and he couldn’t button it up, but it had a hood and made it to his knees.  Jerking the chair out from under the knob, he tossed it on its side, released all the locks and stepped out into the hall.  Walking briskly, he checked the view out the windows at the ends of the hall and then started up the steps, wondering if the roof might provide some clues. 

As he reached the fourth floor, an elderly woman stepped out of her flat door, trying to juggle a bag, an umbrella and a small dog chirping at her feet.  She dropped her keys and John saw his chance. 

“Let me help you.”  He picked up the keys and smiled brightly. 

“Oh, thank you young man.  I hate the idea of going out into the rain, but Schnitze needs a walk.” 

“Would you like me to take Schnitze out for you?  I just love dogs.  Is he a pure-bred?” 

“Why, yes!  He is.  That’s so kind of you, but I don’t want to impose.” 

“It’s no imposition.  I need to go out anyway, out of milk and bread.  I could take him with me and then you don’t have to get soaked in the rain.” 

“Do you live in this building?” 

“Yes, ma’am.  On the second floor, 208.” 

“Oh!  Is that your lovely wife with the long brown hair?  I believe I met her when she first moved in.” 

“Yes!  That’s her.  I’m afraid she hasn’t been well lately so she hasn’t been out much.” 

“Oh, that’s too bad.”  She handed him the leash.  “Well, you give her my best.” 

John nodded, still smiling at his own deceitful ingenuity. 

“Why don’t you take the umbrella, too?” 

“Why, thank you!  That’s very considerate.  That way Schnitze and I _both_ won’t get too wet.”  He turned and tugged on the leash and the little white dog wagged its tail happily at the prospect of going out.  “Well, we’ll be back soon.” 

He waved as the woman reinserted her key in the flat door.  Rushing down the stairs, he reached the foyer and quickly pulled the hood up over his head.  Pushing the door open, he pressed the button on the umbrella and covered as much of his body as he could, coaxing the dog along. 

Just to be safe, he walked in the opposite direction of the pub, turned the corner and circled the block, peeking around the edge of the building to see if his voyeurs were still in place.  They still stood, one with hands in his pocket, the other leaning against the building, reading a paper.  Dragging the dog along, he walked swiftly to the next intersection and found a bus stop.  Within minutes he was seated on the dry bus, dog in his lap.  It might be smart to keep the disguise for a bit longer. 

Two bus rides and one taxi later, John stepped out onto the grass that lined the gravel road leading up to the quaint row of cabins that lined the lake.  The dog had been left, along with umbrella, lashed to a handlebar on several bus rides before.  He hadn’t been to this site in years, but it truly hadn’t changed very much.  A flood of memories overtook him as he strode between the houses and looked out over the water.  Almost immediately, his gaze shifted to the dock several doors down, almost expecting to see the scrawny black-haired boy sitting with his feet dangling in the water. 

With the end in sight, he traversed the multitude of manicured lawns and stepped up to the back stoop of the small cabin.  It didn’t appear as if anyone was home, but John tapped lightly and was suddenly met by the pale and determined face of his created cousin. 

“Were you followed?” 

“No.  They were watching the flat, but I got away,” John spoke proudly stepping across the threshold.  Arty swept his wand over him and spun him around. 

“No one handed you any objects before you left, did they?”  Arty patted his pocket and must have felt the change.  “Did they give you money?” 

“No, I had this stowed away at the flat.” “You’re sure Potter’s goons didn’t follow you?  They were all over the flat.”  Arty started walking and John followed. 

“Yeah, I noticed.” 

The age of the decor as well as a heavy layer of dust indicated that no one had stayed in this cabin for quite some time.  He followed Arty through the furnished living area and galley-style kitchen, the counters covered in dirty plates, bread crumbs and lumps of something thick and yellow molding on the counter.  With his penchant for cleanliness, the surroundings truly turned his stomach. 

“You told me the flat would be safe.” 

Arty didn’t speak but continued, passing several more doors, one of which he presumed was the loo.  They turned and descended a set of narrow steps as John continued to complain.   

“Arty, they took all my stuff.  All my equipment and samples and…” 

He stopped dead on the last step, absorbing the scene before him, his feet nearly wanting to retreat back up the steps.  John had never, in all the years he known him, been afraid of his cousin.  Even remotely concerned of his intensions or sanity, but seeing the room before him, all assurances were left behind.   

The smell hit him first.  An overpowering waft of must, mold, urine and something else that John didn’t want to think about.  Intense and pungent, John’s mouth opened automatically to try and avoid the smell.  Windowless, only candles and torches lit the room.  The floor consisted of broken concrete and dirt, the walls’ concrete block spattered with stains of yellow ochre and brick that caused his pupils to dilate at their suggestive coating.  But it was the contents of the room that frightened him the most. 

Chains bolted into walls, curled onto the floor with their weight; heavy wooden beams with ropes lashed to their ends, loops with knots that showed the prowess of a seasoned sailor.  Metal hooks dangled ominously from the ceiling, reminiscent of a slaughter house, but John couldn’t picture just innocent animals hanging from them.  An old-fashioned iron bathtub full of rusty water sat to the side and in the corner a stone-work fireplace with stacks of wood nearby.  White and red embers smoldered among a set of iron tools whose tips rested in their depths, a cauldron hanging above it, emitting blue smoke.  The only sound came from the bubbling of its contents.  Wooden shelves lined the walls, full of bottles in all shapes and sizes, some labeled, some not, all of them sitting precariously on warped boards scattered with dead roaches and droppings that made John want to jump on a chair.  A generation worth of dust and webs coated the corners of the room. 

“Welcome to the palace!”  Arty turned and threw his arms wide. 

John forced his face away from the steaming cauldron and looked at his cousin with new eyes.  Not only did his expression scream of mental imbalance, his skin was pale and clammy, his sunken eyes appeared nearly corpse-like.  He didn’t look well.  John prayed that Arty wouldn’t notice the fact that his skin was crawling with goose-bumps and his stomach was trying to regurgitate his last meal.   

Suddenly and without provocation, Arty pivoted around, an almost ballet-like gesture.  The back of his hand snapped loudly and a scream followed immediately afterwards.  

“Say hello to our guest, bitch!”  Arty stepped to the side. 

For the first time, John saw the girl, her head turned from the impact of Arty’s backhand.  She sat with legs turned underneath her on a rusted metal cot.  Her long blonde hair was damp and matted, her face bruised and streaked with tears.  What used to be a pale yellow blouse, now hung open and torn, spatterings of red on the yellow fabric and the pink bra underneath. 

Her arms disappeared behind her, stretched painfully based on her expression, but John saw no rope or bindings of any kind.  Her blue eyes bulged in terror and agony, probably praying that John was to be her savior. 

“Oh, I forgot you can’t talk.”  Arty smiled at John.  “She wouldn’t shut up so I glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth and now…” he slid his finger tip over her split lip “…she’s quiet as a mouse.” 

John truly didn’t know what to say, but thought it wise to appear at ease.  “Wh-what is this place?” 

“I told you, this is the palace.  This house has belonged to our family for generations.  When my mother started acting all deranged, I tried to heal her down here.  She died right over there on that gurney.”   

John’s eyes flashed to the leather straps that hung from the sides of the wooden table and he shivered at the image Arty’s explanation had placed in his head. 

_It’s a torture chamber!  What the hell!_  

“No one will find me here.  We’ve used this as a hiding place for years.  So, you can feel safe here, cuz.  Glad to see they let you out.  You want something to eat?”  Arty turned and picked up a biscuit from a box on the table and then strode over to casually stir the contents of the cauldron. 

“Ah, no…thank you.”  John gulped and forced his legs to take the last step.  “Um…who’s the girl?” 

“This is our ransom ticket.  This is Diane Randolph.  She’s the cherished possession of a Wizengamot judge and he’s rich.  Not that I’m really after the money, but it’s a nice perk.” 

“So, then what are you after?” 

“Weasley and Potter, of course.  This one…” he gestured toward Diane “…is Weasley’s girl.” 

“No, she isn’t.”  With Ron’s actions toward him on behalf of Hermione, it was unlikely he had interests in any other women. 

“Oh, yes!  Look, I have a lovely snapshot of the two of them.”  He held it out for him to see.  John looked at the photo with a puzzled expression.  Could he have been wrong?  

Arty continued.  “Weasley thought he’d find himself a darling little rich girl and be set for life.  You see, I promised I wouldn’t hurt her if Weasley came with the money delivery.  So, knowing his stupid noble attitude and Potter’s martyr syndrome, they’ll show and then I’ll take them, bring them here and finally get satisfaction.”  Arty walked back toward the cot and Diane’s body retreated as far as she could without falling off the stained mattress. 

“I thought you wanted to strip them of their magic?” John asked, trying to figure out the logic in his cousin’s rant. 

“Oh, I will, but why not have a little fun first?”  He grabbed Diane by the hair, pulled her head back and lathed a path of saliva up the side of her face with his tongue.  “Now that you’re here, we can even have _more_ fun.  You’ll take care of my friend here, won’t you, darlin’?”  Diane did nothing but tremble violently and bend to his will. 

John slowly walked into the room, unable to convince his body to get too close and always keeping the escape route clear, but feeling a need to appear comfortable.  His eyes never dropped from the girl still in Arty’s grip.  “I thought you said you promised not to hurt the girl.  Aren’t they going to want to see her before they pay up?” 

“You’re really not that bright, are you, cuz?”  John paused for a second, not sure how to take that comment.  But his survival instincts told him to ignore it.  “They’ll take her in any condition I want.”  Arty seemed to enjoy touching the girl and did so with great intimacy as he spoke.  “I’ll have the money, and Weasley _and_ Potter, long before they get the girl back.”  Then just as quickly, he shoved her down to the mattress and pointed at a chair next to the card table that held the box of biscuits.  “Sit down.  Make yourself at home.  You’re family.  My place is yours.” 

John dragged his legs over and sat on the edge of the chair, still fighting the need to flee.  Diane continued to stare at him and he could guess at the questions and fears running through her mind.  Although Hermione was truly his type, this girl had a lot of appeal.  She was slender, her skin milky white and smooth except for the few cuts and bruises.  To John, women had always just been a thing to use, to get what he wanted and nothing more.  He had no real love for them, only for what they could _give_ him; mainly, a home-cooked meal, a clean house, ego stroking and sex.  The only one he truly loved was his mother, but she was gone and without her, the rest of the lot really didn’t matter.  There was absolutely no resemblance to his mother with this one and he honestly had no interest in the girl, but something about the terrified blue eyes struck him.  He couldn’t help glancing at her every few minutes. 

Arty buzzed around the room, tying knots, testing the water temperature in the tub and finally pulling out a bottle of something called “Ogden’s” and placing it on the table.  He sat opposite him and poured him a glass, thrusting it out for him to take.   

“So, here’s what I need from you.” 

***  

Ron woke, not from the usually persistent cough or a raging fever, but from the tickle of hair on his chest.  He couldn’t help but chuckle at the sensation.  Tipping his chin down, he smiled at the most wonderful sight.  Hermione mumbled oddities, clearly in the throws of a dream, her head nudging against his chest, one hand wrapped around the elastic of his boxers, gripping it fiercely. 

Carefully, he lifted the hair that had shrouded her face, pinching the tiny strands on her cheek that remained stuck to her damp skin.  Her dark lashes fluttered as her eyes moved beneath her lids and then like music to his ears she spoke.  “Ron.”  It was just one word, but it filled him with joy. 

Unwilling to wake her from whatever story her mind had chosen, he gently stroked her head and just enjoyed the closeness of waking beside her.  He hoped it would be the first of many days.  All his hopes went toward the previous night’s joining.  He’d never experienced anything as powerful and soul consuming as he did when her starved body drained him of everything he offered.  The physical part of it had been beyond pleasure, past any explanation he could give it.  He surrendered his body over to her and rode wave after wave of torturous passion.  The tingle of magic left him, but he didn’t fight it or mourn its loss.  All his focus had been on making her whole.  He’d gladly die a happy man just seeing her wave her wand again with a sparkle in her eye.   

And now, the darling creature in his arms had a pink flush to her delicate and fuller cheeks, less gray in her silky long hair and no lines marring her face with concern.  Her hips were still soft, just less round.  Her breasts, formerly filling his palms had lost of bit of their fullness, but still peaked to his attentions.  Those things would return with some of Molly Weasley’s dinners.   

As he lay on his back, he realized for the first time in days, it didn’t really hurt.  Perhaps itched a little, but that was to be expected with the healing.  Turning his head, he looked wistfully at the wand resting on the nightstand.  What was it really?  A stick of finely turned wood?  He had convinced himself that he wouldn’t need it and would now have to test how convincing his own argument had been. 

Even with her fully dressed and after the utopian experience of the previous night, Ron couldn’t help the sensation of fullness that now rushed to his groin.  He wanted to love this woman every minute of every day.  Satisfaction filled his chest at knowing that despite the loss of his magic, the other parts of him worked fine.  It took another second to realize that he felt neither hot nor cold and the cough-inducing tickle present in his throat for days, seemed less noticeable.  He did feel weak, his limbs lacking their normal strength, but in the grand scheme of things, that wasn’t so bad. 

“What?”  With a sudden jerk Hermione woke up, shouting, her hand unintentionally pressing into the top of his thigh.  He grunted from the impact, but then laughed almost immediately.  There was far too much joy in him this morning for anything to truly bother him. 

“Ron!”  She looked at him, her eyes shifting from the vision of the Ron in her dream to the truth of morning. 

He pulled the hair back from the side of her face.  “You were dreaming, sweetheart.” 

She blinked rapidly, her mouth open as shallow breathing graduated to deeper inhales.  As if the reality of the moment had suddenly struck her, she sat up, crawled to the head of the bed and sitting back on her legs, grabbed Ron’s face in her palms.  “Are you alright?”  Her voice was small and deeply concerned. 

“I’m fine and you look beautiful.” 

She kissed him on the lips, softly but with urgency.  “Why did you _do_ that?  You stupid, silly boy.” 

For once, her words didn’t sting.  “That’s me, stupid Ron Weasley,” he echoed his words from the night before, a broad smile on his face. 

She moved her hands over his face, studying him.  “You’re cool.  No fever?” 

He smiled and shook his head.  “Nope.”  He turned his head and kissed her palm.  “Is your magic back?”  Her eyes watered almost immediately as she nodded, her lips pressed together to hold back the wave of emotion.  “Good.” 

“But it’s not right,” she blurted out in a whisper, tears lapping over her lower lids.  “You’re a pureblood.  You need your magic, I don’t.” 

“I’ll have you to take care of me.”  He pulled her down and kissed her.  She sniffed and sunk back into his arms, a slow, deep kiss enticing her body to untwist and rest on top of him.  He could spend every morning like this, just holding her, kissing her, giving and receiving the full extent of their love and devotion to each other.  Then again, having her lay on him like this was stirring all kinds of other desires, and in typical Ron Weasley fashion, he whispered without thinking.  “Take your clothes off.” 

“What?” she asked, separating from his lips. 

“You heard me.”  He knew it was a rather forward thing to say, but with the way their lives had been heading, he felt a bit more greedy than usual. 

“After last night?  I’ve already got all my magic back.  I even did a spell.  Pinched Harry in the arse for a rude comment.  I am not going to allow you to do that again.  Parker isn’t even back with your count yet.” 

“Oh, count, schmount.  I don’t want to make love to you just for scientific reasons.”  He started pulling the shirt up her back. 

“Ronald!” 

“Can I help it if you excite me?”  
  
Hermione glanced down, finally noticing the salute his male member was giving her.  “Oh, for goodness sake.  I’ve created a monster.” 

“Grrr.”  He smiled and managed to finally pull the shirt over her head only to have his hopes dashed when her arms immediately wrapped over her bare chest.  “No bra?” 

“I was in a hurry to get dressed last night.” 

He wanted to see her, to really look at the supple curves that he’d dreamt of for so long.  Reaching for her wrist, his attempt to remove her arms was met with resistance.  Immediately, he snapped to her eyes for some kind of indication of her behavior.   

They’d made love twice now, he’d already seen her, so why would she be so shy about it?  Thoughts scrambled for a motive.  He could understand if she had responded this way on their first time, even with her being sick.  But things were different now, right?  They were back together.   

She didn’t hesitate last night.  Was he being presumptuous to assume that she’d readily give herself to him in this manner?  Now that he’d experienced such intimacy with her, his hormones were in overdrive.  He couldn’t deny that he wanted it and wanted it bad.   

Was he moving too fast?  Perhaps she wasn’t ready for this type of sexual relationship.  He cocked his head and frowned; her only response was to glance down uncomfortably.  Her physical beauty was undeniably mesmerizing, but loving the beauty inside had become more worthy an adventure as of late. 

Maybe he had it all wrong.  Maybe, last night was just a means to an end and she was only open to his attentions because of the necessity of the circumstances.  All of these thoughts formed in his head within the span of a second, all weighing heavily.  Rather than face the truth, Ron was tempted to just give up and hand her back her shirt.  However, that temptation didn’t last long.  After fighting so hard to get her back, he wasn’t willing to quit.  He wanted her far too much – all of her.  Courage seemed to swell within him. 

“’Mione, look at me.”  She did, her head still tipping shying down.  Slowly, he rested his hand on her bicep and stroked it gently.  “Why are you hiding yourself from me?” 

She shrugged.  It was so adorably innocent.  He felt as if he were addressing someone much younger.  With that came the realization that although young himself, he at least had some experience where this was only her third time. 

“Am I going too fast?  Is this not what you want for us?  Because I’ll stop.  I won’t push you for anything.  We can go at any pace you want.”  He was prepared to argue his point further, but she cut him off. 

“It’s not that,” she countered, swallowing as her eyes darted around the quilt.   

His hand drifted north, cupping her jaw, his fingers threading into her hair.  “Then what is it?  Remember, we promised we’d communicate better.” 

That seemed to get her attention and she finally looked at him.  “I don’t look very nice these days.”  That statement was wrought with shame.  “Besides, you shouldn’t assume that I’m just going to strip for you whenever you want.”  Ron recognized the fact that she was trying to cover up her discomfort with a terse counter-argument.  It was just so Hermione to do something like that and he couldn’t help but grin just a little. 

“I’m not assuming anything.  I’m just trying to show you how much I love you.”  Releasing her jaw, he allowed his hand to trail down her arm, his finger tips just grazing over the swell of her breast.  “You will always be beautiful to me.  Skinny arse, fat arse, gray hair, no hair, heck I’ll probably be fat and bald and you’ll be kicking _me_ out…”  she chuckled  “…I will love every part of you equally.”  He started thumbing the button on her jeans.  “So, are you alright with this?” 

Still watching him, she slowly dropped her arms, this time gripping his hands.  To him, her signal to stop seemed loud and clear.  But then she did something unexpected and straddled his hips, still holding his hands.  The previous red light shifted to green in the arousal department as he fought with himself to stay focused on her face and not the alluring set of rosy nipples before him.  Her expression told him there was more to discuss and he tried desperately to look serious as she inhaled.  

“You scared me to death, you know, passing out like that.  I thought I’d killed you.”  The way she huffed at him, that exasperated twist of her cheeks, it just thrilled him more.  The smile just wouldn’t go down.  “Stop looking at me like that.”  She crossed her arms, but all it did was press her breasts together in a way that made him ache even more. 

“Get naked, Hermione,” he whispered again, a testosterone fueled request.  His fingers curled over the waistband of her denims.  “I promise we won’t do anything to lower my count.  I want you so bad, it _is_ killing me.  You can even do a contraception charm or I’ll wear one of those Muggle condoms if you want.” 

_Is it too pitiful to beg?_  

She tilted her head.  “Like it would make much difference.” 

“What do you mean?” Ron’s chest tightened.  “Are you…are you pr-pregnant?”  A quick burst of adrenaline prepared him for a life-changing possibility. 

“Not that I know of, but it hasn’t been long enough.  We did have unprotected sex twice, you know.  But, I’m not due for another couple of days.”   

His thoughts turned inward for a half-second, a vision of Hermione before him with a rounded belly.  “Would be nice though.”  Ron wasn’t sure why he said it, but it was the truth. 

“You _want_ me to be pregnant?” 

“Well…yeah,” he eyebrows rose to the ceiling, “…I mean no.”  Now she looked confused.  “I mean, it might be kind of soon, but it would still be nice if it happened.”  Dread swept over him, realizing what he had just said, and he waited for his punishment.  She smiled and just shook her head, climbing back off of him.  _Oh, crap.  I’ve put my foot in my mouth again._  

But she was still smiling and it perplexed him.  “What is that look supposed to mean?” 

He heard the rip of a zipper.  “It’s just that only days ago, you were marrying Diane and I was writing out a will.”  She started to shimmy out of the denim.  “And now you’re telling me you hope I’m pregnant.  This stuff belongs in the fiction section of the library, Ronald.” 

In true male fashion, his thoughts were revolving around her knicker-covered arse, but he did hear part of her statement.  “A will?” 

She pulled her last leg free and tossed the denims onto the nearby chair.  “I wanted to be prepared, just in case.” 

He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back down on top of him, only the ivory cotton separating them.   

“You won’t be needing it now.  Not for a long, long time.”   

Reclaiming her lips, his arms wrapped around her perfect skin, soft breasts mashing against his chest.  He wanted to roll her over, strip the knickers down her legs and have a hearty Hermione breakfast, but his body was telling him that the strength just wasn’t there.  Whispered ‘love you’s’ and other endearments interspersed with their battling tongues over erotically slow kisses.  Ron was dying from the pressure between his legs, but just couldn’t stop kissing her.  He did manage to lift his hips up and that must have given Hermione a clue to his condition. 

Most likely it was due to the fact that she had experienced the same thing just days before, but Hermione looked at him with all seriousness.  “You’re feeling really weak, aren’t you?” 

Not wishing to spoil the moment, Ron hesitated, but she knew him too well and he decided to confirm his condition.  “Yeah.  My arms and legs feel like jelly.  I want to hold you, but…” 

“Then let me take care of you this time.”  Her lips moved to his ear, then his jaw, neck, collarbone and soon her lips latched onto a nipple, her teeth raking over it.   

“Mm, that’s ticklish,” he chuckled.  She lifted her head and smiled, but then began a slow journey over his stomach and down his thighs, her lips leaving a trail of moisture that left Ron with chills having nothing to do with a fever.  Carefully lifting the sheets off of his legs, she somehow managed to reveal every ounce of his skin accept the bulging package in the center. 

“Is _that_ ticklish?” she asked coyly, kissing so close to the goods that Ron’s already stiffening presence twitched in response. 

Was it too much to hope that she would do what he expected?  Her lips were so close and his fantasies were right there, ready to take over.  Her hands stroked over his thighs, just inches from where he needed them. 

_Oh, please, Hermione.  Pull the sheet off.  Touch me._

“Um…I’ve never done this.”  Her words broke the moment, but when Ron opened his eyes, he nearly groaned to see her lips hovering a breath away from his engorged tip, her tongue darting out to brush over the end that had found its way past the 300 thread-count.  “Yes,” he blurted involuntarily. 

“Yes?” she asked, echoing back.  Then her tongue stroked over the side and Ron nearly fell out of the bed.  There must have been some truth to Parker’s speech about emotional bonding because Hermione’s touch was far better than any other girl he’d experienced.  Of course, there had only been a few, but she still outshone them all. 

“Oh, most definitely yes.” 

And then she began in earnest.  With one whoosh, the sheet was gone and he was like an all-day lollipop, she determined to lick him down to nothing. 

_Oh, my god!  Hermione’s licking my cock!_  

The groans tumbling from his lips were uncontrollable.  His neck seemed unable to hold his head upright and his mouth fell open.  If this particular skill came from a book, he was going to buy her a library.  It felt incredible. 

_What if she…?_  

The thought that she might have learned this elsewhere popped up in his head and he raised himself up.  “Hermione, you’ve _never_ done this before?” 

Hermione paused, licking her lips after having removed them from his now moist and purple head.  “Nope, never.”  Then she squinted.  “Did you think that I did this with…” 

“No!”  _Please don’t say the dickhead’s name_.  “Never thought that, forget I asked.  Dumb question.”  His head fell weakly back to the pillow as she resumed. 

Her grip was just right, sliding over him from tip to base.  “Am I doing it right?  I read this book once…” 

“You get an ‘Ohhhh’ for outstanding.” 

That must have really played into her sense of accomplishment, for she wrapped her lips around him and slid down, her tongue caressing him from within.  “Oh, Merlin!  Do that again!”  She did and Ron knew he was lost.  His toes began to tingle as her hand wrapped around him and pumped.  His thighs tightened in response to the rush that was about to overtake him. 

Her lips continued to stroke, up and down, the heat of her mouth surrounding him.  She pulled in her cheeks and Ron fisted the sheets and exploded.  Another orgasm of universal proportions launched him into another dimension, his hips thrusting up to meet her.  Last night may have equated to the big-bang theory, but this was no minor event – far more fulfilling than any previous oral encounters.  Giving himself a moment to catch his breath, he finally looked down to see Hermione wiping the corner of her mouth.  “Well, that’s interesting.  I never saw how that worked before.” 

Such a clinical sounding explanation, Ron laughed out loud.  “I’m glad I could be an educational experience for you.” 

***  

Harry rushed down the steps.  He had overslept.  Despite his trudging in late the night before, he had every intention of resuming his search efforts at first light and here it was eight in the morning.  Rushing into the kitchen, he was just going to grab a cup of coffee or tea and leave for the Ministry. 

“Gin, why didn’t you wake me up?” 

As usual, Ginny sat absorbed in books and reports, a half-eaten piece of toast lying on a plate. 

“You came in so late.  I thought you needed some sleep.”  She yawned, obviously in the same boat as he. 

He kissed her on the top of the head and proceeded toward the cabinet to retrieve a cup.  “Not with Diane Randolph still missing.  I need to get my crew together and see what happened overnight.” 

“Dean Thomas owled.  He wanted to know if Hermione was alright.” 

“Oh, yeah, I forgot to call him back.” 

“Do you want me to owl him?” 

“No, I’ll call.” 

“Hermione’s mum is also asking about her.” 

He chugged down a large sip of coffee.  “Well, at least we have some good news now.  What’s _Ron_ _’s_ status?  I feel bad.  I haven’t been around much to talk to him.  Hermione said she was waiting for Parker to come back.” 

“Yeah, I got the results right here.”  She waved a piece of parchment toward him.  “His count is very low, not like Hermione where the level was so low that her life was in jeopardy, but…” 

“But what?” Ginny was obviously struggling with some intense emotions.  “He’s basically a squib.” 

Harry nodded, knowing this was not Ginny’s hope and yet thankful that Ron was not in danger of losing his life.  He set his cup down and swung Ginny’s stool toward him.  “But there’s a good chance it will come back, right?”  His question wasn’t so much to soothe Ginny as to assure himself. 

“I hope so.  There are just so many factors to consider.  Parker thinks he’ll improve.” 

“And the virus?”  He swiped away a few hairs that had falling in her face. 

“It’s still in his system, but it’s weakened now that it has nothing to latch onto.” 

“So, your theory was correct!  You should be happy.” 

“I am, in a way.  I just feel like I somehow failed him.” Her voice wavered.  “Do you know how hard it was to send Hermione up there knowing I’d be taking his magic from him?” 

“Oh, Gin.”  He pulled her into his chest.  “You had to do what you could to save his life.  You did the right thing and I’m so, so proud of you.” 

He sensed her pull him closer.  “I’m so tired, Harry.” 

“I know, I am, too.”  They rocked; two exhausted, troubled souls that were so thankful for each other.  “You know what?  I owe you a nice dinner out.  When this is all done, and I promise it’ll be soon, we’re going to go out and celebrate.  We’ll get everyone healthy and I’ll take you out for dinner and dancing.”  He pushed her back.  “How does that sound?” 

“Sounds absolutely lovely.  Although, at this point, I’d settle for a quiet evening at home and an early bed.” 

“Early bed sounds good.”  He winked at her. 

“Behave.” 

“Yeah, behave yourself,” a much lower voice interrupted.  Harry spun around to see Ron shuffling into the kitchen, Hermione held against his side.  His hair was damp as if freshly showered and, suspiciously, Hermione’s hair was in the same condition. 

“Hey, mate!  Damn it’s good to see you up and about.”  Walking swiftly, Harry reached out a hand and pulled Ron toward him offering a pat on the back.  But he drew back suddenly.  “Oh, sorry.  Is your back still bad?” 

“No, it’s better actually.  _Lots_ of things are better.”  Ron smiled and pulled Hermione a bit closer.  Harry couldn’t help but notice the gesture and looked at Hermione who smiled brightly. 

“It’s about time,” Harry smiled in return.  “If you two didn’t have a serious talk soon, I was about to put you both in the lock up, sick or not.” 

Hermione steered Ron toward a chair and he gripped the top tightly as if needing it for balance.  For the first time, Harry noticed how weak his mate really was, the smile slipping from his face. 

“Shite, I’m tired,” Ron complained and fell into the chair. 

Ginny dashed off to the stove, reminiscent of her mother and within a minute Ron had breakfast in front of him.  Harry was shocked when Ron didn’t immediately dig in.  He’d never known his friend to not have an appetite.  Instead, Ron pulled Hermione onto his knee, kissed her on the shoulder and turned back to Harry. 

“So, what’s going on at work?  Any news on Diane?” 

“No.  I’m heading back in right now to get an update.” 

Ron ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head.  “This is all my fault.” 

“Your fault?” Ginny asked, surprised at his response. 

“It’s probably my fault just as much,” Harry admitted. 

“Carrow probably took her to get back at us.”  Ron looked up, concern on his face, but Harry aw that it wasn’t the type of panic that would be present if it would have been someone closer.  He wasn’t sure, however, if Hermione recognized that.  She was gnawing on her lower lip and slipped down the table to take a different seat as if convinced Ron needed the space.  “Do we have _any_ leads?  Did John say anything?” Ron asked. 

“Not about her.  I don’t think he knows anything, but he did have information about the virus.  We might have learned more, but Randolph ordered him released and…” 

“Oh, that’s what was going on at the lock up!” exclaimed Ron. 

“You heard, huh?” 

“Yeah, I got caught in the middle of it.” 

“I noticed,” Harry frowned.  “I saw you peaking around the corner of the window.  You should have just stayed in bed.  You could have infected Kreighton and who knows who else.  There was absolutely no reason for you to be there!” 

“I was worried about Hermione!”  He glanced at Hermione who met his gaze with some combination of guilt, affection and uncertainly. 

“Did you truly think I was going to put her in danger?” Harry asked.  “We had it covered.  Besides, ends up Carrow was just toying with us.  He sent a second ransom note - wants you to deliver 20,000 galleons.  But don’t worry, we explained to Judge Randolph that you can’t do it.” 

“Why not?” Ron asked. 

Ginny was the first to jump in.  “Are you insane?  You’re sick, probably contagious and I doubt you can stand up for more than two minutes.” 

A loud crack drew Harry and Hermione’s attention, but Ron and Ginny continued at full force through a brewing argument.   

“You are _not_ going out on some rescue mission!  I forbid it!” shouted Ginny. 

“You’re not my mother, Gin.”  

“No, but I am.”  Molly Weasley appeared and a second later, Arthur joined her. 

“Mum!” 

“Ronald and Ginevra Weasley, I am just appalled!  What does it say about my family when I have to find out that my son is ill from a friend?  I thought I raised better children than that!”  Molly marched into the room, heading for Ron like a bee after honey.   

“Mum, no,” from Ginny and “Stop” from Ron at the same moment.  Ron raised a hand.  “You can’t come near me.  I’m contagious.” 

“Ronald, I have nursed my children through every disease known to wizard kind and I will get you through this as well.”  Arthur followed, a concerned look on his face, but letting his wife do all the talking.  “You can’t take a minute to inform your own mother?”  She pressed her hand to Ron’s head, but with a bit more force than necessary.  Obviously, her intent was to show her intense displeasure. 

“Mum, Ginny, Harry and Hermione have been taking care of me.  Harry and Hermione can’t catch it.” 

“What about Ginny?  You shouldn’t be over here if he’s sick.” 

You could almost hear the, _‘but I live here’_ statement. 

“But Mum, I’m a Healer and I need to have access to him for testing to develop a cure.” 

“Then develop it, but you can work at your lab in the hospital and then come home every now and then.  Your bed wasn’t slept in for the past two nights, Ginevra.”  Molly’s truth serum stare landed on Harry who felt his blood run cold for a second.  Luckily, Molly turned her attentions back to her son. 

“You should be in bed, young man.” 

“I just got _out_ of bed, Mum.”  His eyes flashed to Hermione for a conspiratorial second.  “Ginny made me breakfast, see?  They’re taking good care of me.  I didn’t want to get you or anyone else in the family sick.” 

“Is that why you ran off the other night at the church?” 

“Yes.” 

“Church?” Hermione asked, just one word, but containing many questions. 

“We were praying for you, dear.”  Molly smiled and rounded the table to Hermione’s side, gently cupping the girls face in her hands.  “When your mother told me how ill you were, she asked me to pray for you so, I did.  Looks like our prayers were answered.  You look so much better.  Your mother will be so pleased.  Have you spoken with her recently?” 

“Um…I saw her a couple of days ago, but I’ll write her again today.” 

“You do that.  Be a good girl and keep your mother informed so she doesn’t have to worry herself sick about you.”  Harry could see a giant ‘guilt trip’ tattoo forming on Ginny and Ron’s forehead.  Molly patted Hermione on the hand and then marched into the kitchen, pulling items out of a large bag she had brought with her.  “Now, I’ll be needing a small cauldron.  Harry, do you have any wolfsbane?” 

“Um…I…um…” 

“Yes, he does,” Ginny replied, rolling her eyes.  Harry knew he hadn’t spent enough time in his own home lately to know if he even had a roll of toilet paper.  But he also knew that Ginny admitting to such things could create a lot of suspicion over her living arrangements and he really didn’t want to fall into that bucket of worms. 

Ron leaned in to him, keeping his voice low.  “So, what about this money drop?  When and where is it supposed to happen?” 

“You know you can’t do it.” 

“But you can.”  Ron reached up and yanked a couple strands of hair from his head.  “Do you have any Polyjuice stored?” 

“Yes, there’s some, but I don’t know if that’s wise.  It could be a trap.” 

“Yeah, you’re right.  But we have to do something.”  Ron glanced over his shoulder at Hermione and Harry wondered if he saw the same hint of doubt that he did.  “Hermione’s Portkey should bring dickhead back, right?  Maybe you’ll get lucky and he’ll give you a lead.” 

“We can’t count on being lucky, Ron.  Look, I need to get in and find out what happened overnight, but I promise I’ll give you an update later.” 

“Kreighton is nearly my size and he’s strong.  You could do a couple of charms, turn his hair red and he could do the drop, snatch Carrow and then we just get some Veritaserum.” 

“Ron, you’re not thinking this through.”  Harry glanced at Hermione and lowered his voice even more.  “I realize that this is Diane we’re talking about, and there may be…feelings involved here…” 

“Harry, it’s our fault that he took her so it’s our responsibility to get her back.  Do we even know if she’s safe?” 

“Carrow claims that she’s frightened, but unharmed.  Of course, we don’t know that for sure.” 

“I should talk to Judge Randolph.”  Ron attempted to get up, but sunk back as all the air rushed out of his lungs. 

Molly marched back in, breaking up their conversation, a cup of something steaming in her hand.  “Drink this.  When did you shower last, Ronald?” 

Ron took the cup, his voice now less encouraged.  “Mum, I just got out.” 

Molly’s eyes darted to Hermione and back with a harrumph, her motherly intuition making the obvious connection between two damp heads of hair.  Her hands flew to her hips.  “It appears several people have recently showered.  Good to know everyone is _clean_.”  A wave of discomfort passed over the room as Molly’s eye for hanky panky met each person under the age of twenty five. 

Hermione rotated from pink to fuchsia in two seconds flat.  “Um…I had better get that letter off to my mum.”  The chair scraped back on the floor. 

“’Mione, wait.” 

“Ron, you just do what you have to do, alright?” said Hermione.  “I understand.  She’s your friend.  Besides, it’s your job so you and Harry just figure out a safe plan to get her back.  Just don’t do anything foolish, alright?  I’ll just be upstairs if you need me.”  She got up, shoved her hands in her pockets and, looking down, started to leave the room.  Ron’s words stopped her steps a second later. 

“Mum, I need a minute alone with Hermione.  Will you excuse us please?” 

“I think you’ve been having a lot of minutes alone with her, Ronald.” 

“Mother, please?” 

Molly exhaled an extremely long breath.  “Fine, I need to talk to Ginny anyway.”  Molly turned back toward the kitchen. 

“Hermione, can I talk to you?”  Harry tried to look inconspicuous, exiting the room and thumbing through a stack of mail, but he couldn’t help but hear the whispered conversation as Hermione walked back to the dining table. 

“Are you upset about this whole kidnapping business?” Ron asked. 

“No, I mean, yes, it’s horrible news.  I’m sure Judge Randolph is worried out of his mind.” 

“That’s not what I mean.”   

Harry couldn’t help but turn his head and peak around the door opening to watch.  Ron had an arm around her waist and was pulling her closer. 

“This is partially my fault.  I can’t just ignore it, but it doesn’t mean anything else.  I made it clear to Diane how I felt.  _You_ are number one in my life, do you understand?” 

Hermione nodded and smiled as Ron took her hand and kissed it.  “No doubts now.  Not ever.” 

“No doubts,” she agreed and hugged him. 

With a sudden burst of energy, Ginny high-tailed it in retreat from the kitchen.  “Well, I have to get in to the hospital.”    Harry wandered back into the room as Ginny grabbed her bag, flashed him a ‘get me out of here’ grimace and called out to her mother.  “I’ll see you tonight for dinner, Mum,” and she Disapparated. 

“Harry?” Molly’s voice shouted from the kitchen.  Hermione nearly ran from the room. 

“Yeah, I have to get to the office,” Harry added, quickly gathering up his robes.  “Um…Mr. Weasley, could I speak with you for a moment before I go?” 

“Of course.”  Arthur seemed to come alive for the first time since entering the room.  He’d been standing idly in the corner, watching the conversation like a fly on the wall and observing his wife and children with a smirk demonstrating his usual subtlety.   

Harry gestured toward the front of the house and within a minute they were standing on the front lawn, the sky bright and blue, fresh air replacing the stuffiness of the house.  He didn’t think that he’d actually be nervous about this conversation, but suddenly he found himself fidgeting with his robes and not entirely sure what to say or how to stand.  Then Arthur pretty much blew it all wide open. 

“So, how long has Ginny been living with you?” 

“Sir?” he warbled, pushing his heart back down his throat to where it belonged.  Arthur was pretty observant after all. 

Arthur’s brows rose as if to say ‘come clean young man’ and Harry sucked up all the courage he could muster. 

“She’s been mostly living here for several months now, Sir.” 

“I don’t suppose that’s what you wanted to talk to me about?” 

“No, Sir.  But it is kind of related in a way.”  Harry gulped and cleared his throat, trying to force his eyes to hold steady and truly be the kind of man that Ginny deserved.  “We didn’t mean to hide it from you, Sir.” 

“Oh, yes, you did.” Arthur pushed him down with a grin.  “I can’t say I blame you for I’m sure Molly would have given you both a good ear slapping, but I guess I’m of the belief that Ginny is old enough to make her own decisions.  Molly still sees her as a little girl.  As much as I hate to admit that she’s not, I’m still going to look out for her best interests.” 

“Mr. Weasley…I love Ginny.” 

“I know you do, son.  That’s why I’m not hauling her home.” 

Harry didn’t bother to wait, but just launched in to say what was on him mind.  “I’ve loved her for a long time now.  Even when I was gone with Ron and Hermione, I thought of her all the time.  I worried about her more than you can imagine and, well, having her live here with me over the past few months has just convinced me more about how much I want to be with her.  Um…I realize this is ultimately her decision, but I wanted to get your permission or blessing or whatever before I ask her to marry me.”  His hopes swelled as the corner of Arthur’s mouth twitched toward a grin. 

“I was wondering when this was going to happen.  As much as I’m thrilled for my daughter, I have to say that I’m just as happy for you.  I can never replace your father, Harry, but I hope you know how much I’ve cared for you from the first day I met you.  Molly, too.  And when we started to notice the feelings you were developing for Ginny, well, we just knew that someday you’d really be our son.  So, yes, you wholeheartedly have my blessing...and Molly’s.” 

Harry smiled and exhaled, the first solidly happy moment in weeks.  “Thank you, Sir.” 

“You’re welcome, but I suggest you ask her soon and announce it to Molly before she drags Ginny off to the convent.” 

“Yes, Sir,” Harry laughed.  “I will.  I have to get in to the Ministry, but thank you.  You’ve really made my day!” 

Arthur smiled brightly.  “Glad to help,” and he turned back toward the house. 


	26. Chapter 26 - Torture and Tactics

  
Author's notes: Enjoy!  


* * *

Chapter 26 – Torture and Tactics 

John didn’t sleep well.  Even though the upstairs bedroom of the lake cottage appeared quite normal and relatively clean, all he could think of was the cesspool in the basement and the blonde girl chained to the cot.  Like counting sheep, he kept repeating to himself ‘she doesn’t matter, she’s just a means to an end.’  After all, she wasn’t a relative, not even an acquaintance.  So, why was he feeling so troubled over this judge’s daughter?   

He’d never had a real relationship with a woman.  He’d had sex, but that’s all it was.  Emotions never played into it.  Truthfully, he’d gone without for a while and in any regular circumstance, he would have jumped at the opportunity to satisfy some serious urges.  The past few months had been hard enough trying to tap things down around Hermione.  Those same urges had already peaked once before, about a month earlier, when he tried to keep Hermione from leaving the flat.  She looked exceptionally nice that day, pushing his cravings past the point of restraint.  He gripped her arm a bit too hard, leaving a bruise on her tricep.  Although it disgusted him to use his own father’s tactics, he quickly made excuses for his actions and convinced her it was just an accident.   

Admittedly, his attraction to Hermione was quite potent, maybe a bit maternal, but probably the most genuine he had ever experienced.  He kept his approach slow, gradually trying to increase the closeness between them.  The desire for more lurked just beneath the surface.  Hermione was like a fine piece of art that had been stowed in the attic.  He wanted to hang her on his wall and look at her all the time, but about a week later he wiped off the layer of lust and saw the portrait of his mother.  Suddenly, he found his stomach curdling when he tried to get near her.  So, when Arty showed up and suggested having a little ‘fun’ with Hermione, he seemed to put on the brakes.  She brought back so many memories that he just felt odd contemplating a sexual encounter with her.  Not that she wasn’t beautiful, but it just felt creepy.  This only added to his sexual frustrations.  He was forced into turning those cravings into some sort of twisted cruelty. 

If that was the case, then why was he having the same hesitant feelings about the blonde downstairs?  He didn’t know her, didn’t care about her in any way.  Without doubt, he knew what Arty had in mind when he saw the room.  They’d had ‘fun’ with women in the past, but it never involved physical torture.  John preferred practicing the art of psychosomatic torture.  It seemed much more interesting to debase a woman with a few well placed bruises and lot of strategically placed insults.  Most of the time, if he and Arty went out, they’d each find their own girl and go their separate ways, finding a hotel room or going to her flat.  He guessed that perhaps Arty’s bedroom skills were less than gentle, but he never suspected this degree.  John wasn’t sure if he was ready to cross that line.  He’d be turning into the monster that was his father. 

When he initially decided to meet Arty here, it was with the soul purpose of getting his lab equipment back, to resume his life’s work.  He was so close he could taste it.  The thrill of magic was one injection away.  He was so sure of it, he’d be willing to do the testing on himself. 

However, since being here, he’d pushed those thoughts aside.  When he came out in search of lunch and couldn’t find his step-cousin, he dreaded going into the basement to look.  With slow, silent footsteps, he eased down the basement stairs, tuning his ears to listen for any voices or movement.  He did hear something.   

Hoping to get himself in the proper frame of mind, he tried to think degrading things of the woman, how she was meaningless, just an object for their use.  That might prepare him for whatever Arty had planned.  Going against his cousin wasn’t a good idea.  The argument that usually convinced him was that they were family, blood brothers, but honestly, behind it all John feared the man and preferred to stay on his good side.  He’d seen what magic could do – it was one of the reasons he wanted it so bad – to have the power to force his hand, to once and for all be the master of his domain and to hunt down his father and enjoy his revenge.  That had been his motivation all along.  It was a strong enough motivation that he often overlooked the obvious signs of his cousin’s mental instability.  He’d been alright as a child, perhaps a little off, but John attributed that to his equally bizarre family.  However, as he became an adult, John was sure that the mental illness that had killed Arty’s mother was passed down to her son.  Then again, the fact that Arty’s mother had died in this very basement made him wonder if something more sinister wasn’t at work here. 

Again, the room was dark and he couldn’t see much, but he leaned forward just far enough for his line of sight to reach the cot.  The only light came from the low smoldering fireplace, and it was still difficult to see.  A female voice whimpered, but then he heard a male voice also speaking low, but too quiet to understand.  Something moved and he squinted, still leaning forward and what he thought he recognized made him draw back and retreat frighteningly slow back up the steps.  His heart banged in his chest, for he didn’t want to interrupt his cousin and suffer his wrath, but the terror behind the girl’s blue eyes kept eating at his stomach. 

He sucked in a breath and tried to speak, but it only came out as breathy warbles of fear.  Then her voice again, louder, more frightened.  It triggered something in him. 

“Yo, cuz!  You down there?  I’m hungry.”  He backed up another step, prepared to run if he had to. 

“Yeah, I’m kind of occupied right now.”  She whimpered a ‘please’ and Arty replied in a harsh tone, but not loud enough for John to understand the exact words. 

“We have all day for that!”  John yelled back, his mind racing to formulate the next lie.  “Besides, I’m going to miss out on all the fun.” 

“Then get down here.  I have her all ready for you.” 

“She’ll wait.  I’m really hungry.  I’m in the mood for nice rare steak.”  He knew it was Arty’s favorite. 

“Yeah, that does sound good,” Arty called back, a definite sneer in his voice. 

“Why don’t you meet me outside.  I’m going to grab a smoke.” 

A pregnant pause filled the air, again only a soft whimper and the jingle of chains.  “Alright.  I’ll be right there.” 

Within a minute, John was sitting outside on the dock and truly contemplating his next move as Arty strolled down from the cottage. 

*** 

By late morning, Molly and Arthur took their leave, with promises to return that evening.  Too weak to get up and leave on his own, Ron had been forced to suffer his mother’s scorn, culpability and abundant, but nearly suffocating love.  With telepathic timing, Ginny returned home minutes after her parents left.  Another crack announced Harry’s arrival minutes after that and Hermione felt safe to leave her self-imposed isolation on the upper floors. 

All three of her friends were in discussion when she walked into the room. 

“…they lost him.”  Harry was speaking, looking exasperated. 

“Lost him?  Who’d you put on the detail?” Ron asked. 

“Philips and Williams.  They saw him come back to the flat.  Williams thinks he saw him try to sneak out under an umbrella, walking a little white dog.  Philips stayed to check the flat, which was empty, and Williams followed him, but he ducked behind a couple of buses that criss-crossed each other and he lost him.  They found a little white dog a bit later.  It was wandering a few blocks from where they lost sight of John.  So, now we’re waiting for Hermione’s Portkey to activate and we’ll hopefully get him back.” 

“What about Carrow.  Any clues on his location or sightings on Diane?” 

“No, none.  Godfrey is checking all the bus routes to see who was picking up in that area and where they were going.  But, some good news,” Harry continued.  “The Muggle Prime Minister himself told Kingsley that all charges against Ron are dropped and the Muggle authorities are issuing an arrest warrant for John Rasmussen.  They apparently started an investigation after we told them about John’s activities.” 

“Finally!” Ron blurted.   

“We turned over most of his equipment to the Muggle prosecutor, minus anything that might give us away.” 

“Good.  Let the Muggles deal with him,” Ron mumbled. 

“Is Judge Randolph going to give Carrow the money?” asked Ginny. 

“Yes, but he keeps insisting Ron do the drop.”  Harry turned back to Ron.  “Says that you loved Diane and you’d do this for her if it meant getting her back.  He seems to think we’re not asking you outright, that we’re keeping it from you and trying to push someone else to do it.” 

Ron’s head dropped.  “I’d go if I could, but I just don’t have the energy.” 

“We know that,” replied Ginny, a loving tone behind every word. 

“But Carrow doesn’t,” replied Hermione, walking up behind Ron and slipping her arms around his shoulders.  A hypothesis began to formulate in her head.  “He thinks I’m a weak, useless mudblood and Ron’s the real threat.” 

“Yeah…and?” Harry asked. 

“So, he’s obviously planning some sneaky way to disarm Ron.  Trafalgar Square will be full of Muggles so he’s got to be planning something unusual.  Maybe he’s going to try that stripping spell on him, but even if he did, it wouldn’t work.  He wouldn’t ask for Ron to make the delivery without a plan to take him and you know it would involve either a spell of some kind or something where the Muggles are helpful.  Ron’s actually the perfect delivery man because he can’t strip him.” 

“But he can do plenty of other awful things,” Ginny interrupted. 

“Which is precisely why Ron can’t go,” argued Harry.  “He can’t do any good without his magic to defend him.  He’d be an easy target.  He’s too weak to even put up a regular fist fight.  Carrow’d take the money and Ron easily.”  Harry stopped, regret written all over his face.  “I’m sorry, mate.” 

Hermione didn’t give Ron time to feel bad.  She quickly kissed him on the cheek.  “It doesn’t matter if he has magic or not, and Carrow doesn’t want the money, he wants Ron.  That was clear when he wrote the second ransom note and told everyone he didn’t want John.  He could have killed me in Budapest, but he didn’t.  He took my magic.  He wants revenge, but he’s not going to kill us outright.  He wants to torture us somehow.  He made that clear in my flat.” 

Ron finally spoke, looking up.  “I don’t follow, ‘Mione.” 

“John wants _me_.  I’m his magical meal ticket and I represent the statue of his mother, way up on that sick pedestal he’s built for himself.  Assuming he’s back with Carrow, you know John will try to use him to get me back.  As much as I detest the man, I know that John will try to keep me safe from Carrow.”  She intentionally looked at Harry, trying in advance to get him on her side, knowing full well that her next suggestion would be met with resistance.  “If I went instead of Ron, it would throw their plan off.”  Ron began shaking his head in earnest.  “They wouldn’t know I had my magic back.” 

“No, no, no, no!” cried Ron.  “You are not an Auror, Hermione!  You’ve got no training for this.” 

“Was I trained when we were chasing Voldemort?”  Everyone cringed, some more subtle than others.  “We were flying by the seats of our trousers, no plan, nothing but some school-age spells and a lot of will.  I’m just as capable, even more so at the moment.  I’m the wild card they’re not expecting.  Harry, please, this could work.” 

Harry studied her, but his worried eyes caught Ron’s resolute expression.  “Hermione, I…” 

“Tell her she’s not going, Harry.”  Ron’s voice rang with a strength that only his muscles lacked. 

“Ron, she has a point,” Harry admitted.  “I don’t want her to go either, but…” 

“There are no buts!”  Ron spun in his chair, grabbing Hermione by the wrist.  The effort to stand looked extreme, but Ron gripped the top of the chair and with a grimace, he was on his feet and staring down at Hermione.  “I didn’t go through hell to get you back just so I could lose you again!” 

“Then you know how I feel about _you_.  I will not let you go by yourself, and if you won’t let me go by myself, then either no one goes or I guess we go together.  I refuse to be apart from you again.” 

“If you two are going, then I am, too,” blurted Harry.  “We’ve always been a team.” 

“Harry, no.”  This time it was Ginny expressing her concern.  “Carrow is too dangerous.  He might not be able to strip Ron, but he can strip you.” 

Four sets of eyes exchanged years’ worth of love and concern.  None of them were willing to risk any of the others and it left them at a stalemate.   

***  

John made it a point to lather Arty with several bottles of mead so that when they returned from their lunch, Arty promptly fell asleep on the sofa.  All during lunch, John suffered through the most confusing torment.  The anger he had for himself nearly eclipsed his own logic.  How could he be contemplating something so stupid!  This man had been a loyal friend for years.  They had shared their blood and Arty’d shared his knowledge on so many things.  Willingly!  John owed him for so much and yet, those damnable blue eyes wouldn’t stop screaming at him to intervene. 

Plastering a smile on his face, John launched into meaningless conversation all through lunch, even joking with the aptitude of a stand-up comic performing his millionth show.  Arty was relaxed and amused, but John only saw the spark of insanity creeping closer and closer to the surface.  Arty started to tell him of his adventures in the basement, describing with erotic detail his secret desires.  Alarms rang within John’s head, indicators of the proximity of his own mental stability to the dementia sitting across from him.  It was as if his soul were about to be impaled on a poisonous spear from which he could never recover.  The images seen earlier in the darkness of his cousin’s dungeon haunted him.  Unrecognizable and twisted body parts.  The glow of bare skin.  Her soft cries.  He couldn’t take it and hence steered the conversation away. 

The absolute second he was sure that Arty was out cold, John tip-toed down the steps into the abyss he dreaded.  His instincts told him to keep the room dark for his own safety, but he couldn’t tolerate the blackness that went with those recurrent memories.  Floundering about in the dank room, he found a candle and lit it, following with another and another until he could breathe normally. 

He forced himself to look at the girl.  All of those degrading thoughts from earlier flashed in his mind, their usefulness questionable now.  She lay curled up on the stench-infested cot, clothed with what was left of her tattered ensemble.  Some indescribable urge bade him move forward and he touched her arm. 

“No,” she whispered, high pitched and frantic, jerking at his touch.  “Please.” 

“Are you alright?” he asked.  He knew it was a stupid question, but was all he could manage at the moment. 

Her head whipped around and he saw the tear streaked face, hiccupping breaths echoing the aftershocks of a long, inconsolable cry.  She pulled her scraped knees up into her chest as if there were room to get them any closer. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.”  It was said with the hope that she’d somehow relax, but then he pictured Arty saying the same thing just before he…  He’d try a different strategy.  “What’s your name?” 

Her eyes began to widen, just a flicker of hope filling them.  “D-Diane.” 

“You have beautiful eyes, Diane.” 

_Stop haunting me!_  

She didn’t respond.  Obviously, after dealing with a lunatic for the past day, she had learned to keep her mouth shut. 

He knew there was an urgency to get her out and yet, he couldn’t move.  He had to justify his own desires, to decipher why this girl was different, how she had twisted his stomach with only a look.  Perhaps as a witch, she had control over people - some special ability to invade their minds and ensnare their souls. 

“Are you a witch, Diane?” 

She didn’t speak. 

He stepped closer.  He had to know.  An absurd anger flowed through him. 

“What is it that you’re doing to me?  Is this part of your magic?”  He rubbed his face hard, trying to scrub away the infection that was overtaking him.  “Leave me alone!” 

She appeared to try and speak, but her hesitance only frustrated him more.  As if waking from his own dream, he spun around and walked to the far end of the room, sitting on a chair at the bottom of the steps.  His life forked into two paths, salvation in a set of blue eyes, eternal damnation asleep on the sofa.  He would either show up in Trafalgar Square at five o’clock or take the girl and disappear forever.  Three hours to decide. 

***  

The afternoon passed excruciatingly slow, the time leading up to five o’clock ticked by with constant updates and frequent discussions, each time returning to the validity of Hermione’s plan.  Harry came and went, along with several Aurors who not only brought an exchange of news and information, but kept an almost constant presence in the house for security purposes.  Ginny wasn’t sure if this was Harry’s finest hour or the beginnings of a physical and emotional breakdown.  He seemed to be marching about with the mastery of a drum major leading the parade:  check on this, organize that, did you, should you, could you, do it now.  He paused once to give Ginny a kiss, his eyes softening up for a few seconds before another Auror’s question returned him back to the blazing jade of authority.  

The tension of the approaching deadline revealed itself in nearly every room of Harry’s house.  Ginny wanted to head back to her lab, but was afraid that one of the other three might make a rash decision in her absence.  So, she sat, hovering over a cup of tea and reading all afternoon at the dining room table.  The ruffling of her page turns seemed to coincide with the ticking of the grandfather clock in the library.  

 Parker stopped in again, ran more tests, but seemed encouraged at the lessening of Ron’s symptoms and Hermione’s returning magic.  At the moment he stood stirring the contents of a small cauldron in the kitchen.  The eerie smoke wafted about the room with the pungent scent of fear and anticipation.

Hermione’s heels clicked against the wood floor of the library as she paced between two windows, stopping to gaze out each of them at regular intervals.  Ginny knew she had exhausted all of her arguments in favor of allowing her to do the drop.  Now it was in Kingsley’s hands and Ginny recognized the tension as she waited for the verdict.

Ginny’s gaze shifted to the other person in the room.  Ron refused to take his eyes off of Hermione, following her movement with the steady gaze of a pendulum set to earth’s clock.  Ginny’s line of sight allowed her to witness half of Hermione’s pacing and Ron’s shoulder peaking over the back of the sofa.  She tried to keep her attention on her reading, but her thoughts kept pulling her back to the two souls struggling in the next room.  Ron had countered every opinion, point and counter point that Hermione had put up.  This was one time when he wasn’t backing down.  The expressions on both of their faces left Ginny wondering whether they were angry with each other or exhausted with relief that neither had convinced Kingsley to let them go.  Ron would seem miffed, but his features calm.  Hermione would tense, but look relieved.  Neither wanted the other to go.

 

Regardless of history’s take on Carrow and his pseudo-cousin, their successes and failures, everyone carried a sense of foreboding over the approaching task.  The potential for calamity was high.  The evil that Carrow could dish out might result in someone’s death or capture.  Ginny worried that should it come to a stalemate, Harry would end up playing the hero again and she was beyond panicked at the thought.  She flipped a page and glanced back to the pair in the adjoining room, watching the silent vignette like a lone patron at the back of a darkened theatre.

 

Even the air seemed to weigh heavy on their shoulders.  Ron coughed and Hermione spun around as if to calm her uneasy heart, probably worried that her love would take some sudden turn for worse.  Hermione resumed her pacing and Ron kept inhaling the start of a conversation, but never speaking.  

 

Returning to the near window, Hermione worried the end of her thumb nail and Ron must have decided to make his move, to leave his perch on the sofa.  Slowly, he pushed himself up and walked over to her.  Ginny could only hear muffled words, but their body language wrote a novel.  He wrapped his arms around her from behind, his embrace indicative of a lover.  He molded his body to fit hers with the ease of a soul torn and finally reunited with its other half.  Hermione sighed into him for a moment, but after he whispered something in her ear, Hermione spun around with a stern expression, but kept her voice hushed.

 

She shook her head violently and tried to push back from him as if needing more space to fully express her frustration, but Ron held her close, kissed her forehead and whispered again and all was well.  Ginny found herself drawing comfort from Hermione’s reaction, as if Harry had been holding her and whispering assurances.

 

With her head still pressed to his chest, Hermione shook it again, the conversation continuing as Ginny’s eyes narrowed in wonder.  Ron pushed her back, reached out and tipped her chin up to look at him.  Ginny’s heart ached just looking at Hermione’s expression.  Whatever the conversation, Hermione appeared worried sick as Ron spoke some more.

 

Suddenly, Hermione spun back to the window and Ron let go, his shoulders dipping as he walked back to the sofa, his fingers raking through his hair in typical fashion.  Ginny’s eyes shifted to and fro between them, anxious to know the conversation and yet feeling ashamed of herself for spying.  Ron sat down, but was there for only seconds before slamming his fist down on the arm of the sofa.  

 

“Dammit!” followed by a fresh wave of coughing.

 

That was all he spoke and Ginny wondered if he was angry with her or himself or John or the millions of other factors and causes that had turned his world so upside down in the past weeks.  Either way, it caught Hermione’s attention as she turned back to face him.  She looked neither apologetic nor surprised as she took two hesitant steps toward him.  Ron’s head hung down in front of him, but he must have sensed her presence because he reached out a hand toward her.  She took it and stepped closer, pulling his head against her waist.

 

Her presence seemed to sooth him as she stroked the hair on his head, then the side of his face.  He tipped his head up to look at her and she continued to caress his face, her words soft and even, her eyes full of love and then she slowly straddled his lap and kissed him.  Normally, Ginny might have found this embarrassing, but there was nothing erotic or passionate about this kiss.  This was tender and loving.  Finally, it became too much to bear and Ginny had to look away.

 

She turned a page of her book as if needing to keep up the ruse, realizing she hadn’t comprehended the previous page or the one before it.  Maybe a new paragraph might give a fresh start.  A throat cleared and she looked up to see Ron with his arm over Hermione’s shoulders, standing in the doorway.

 

“What’s up, sis?”

 

“Um…” _Did they know she had been watching?_   “Just reading.  How are you feeling?”  She glanced at the clock.  "Oh, is it time for another dose of..."

 

“You’re afraid to leave, aren’t you?” Ron asked.

 

“What?  That’s nonsense.  I can research this just as well here as at the lab.”

 

“And you can keep an eye on us here better than at the lab, too,” Ron smiled and Hermione whispered something to him.  His ears turned red and he smiled.

 

“Alright, mother,” was Ron’s sarcastic reply and they walked into the kitchen, Hermione providing a bit of extra support to Ron's still wobbly gate.  

 

Moments later he was finishing a sandwich as he walked back to the den and lay down on the sofa.  

 

“So, what was that all about?” Ginny asked as Hermione walked back from the kitchen.

 

“He needs to keep up his strength.  I told him he had to eat something.”

 

“You must have said more than that.”

 

“I will use any tactics that I have to convince him to eat and if that means promising certain favors, then I’ll do it.”

 

“You’re terrible.”

 

“Keep an eye on him, Ginny.  If he sleeps past five, let him.”  Ginny immediately knew Hermione's intensions and so when Hermione turned quietly as if to head toward the foyer and exit, Ginny knew what she had to do.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

Hermione’s eyes snapped to her left, just as Ron’s head turned from the other room.  Any attempted escape had just been thwarted.  “Just going to sit down and read for a while.”  But her eyes flashed at Ginny, a brief second of anger before her steps changed direction toward the library and Ron’s protective stare.

 

 ***  

With Ron and Ginny both nodding off, Hermione left for the Ministry around four.  Kreighton was there at the house and she told him to keep Ron at home.  Of all the Aurors, he was probably the only one big enough to do it.  She and Harry met up to get updates, formulate some kind of plan, and appease Judge Randolph.  An entire team sat in the conference room, discussing the latest. 

“Godfrey, how much time do we have before the Portkey goes off on Rasmussen?” 

“Well, coincidentally, it should go off about five minutes to five.” 

“Alright, then we’ll need a few men in the Ministry courtyard to take him into custody.” 

“I’ve already assembled a team, Sir.” 

“He’ll be shocked.  Try and take advantage of it and get any information you can about Carrow or Diane’s location.  Keep him off balance is possible.  Maybe we’ll catch a lucky break.” 

“What do we do if Carrow uses magic in front of all those Muggles?” asked Williams. 

“Do you really think he’s that insane?” asked Hermione. 

“Insane, yes,” Harry agreed, “but Carrow treasures his magic more than anything and I doubt he’d do something that might take it away from him.” 

“And, if we have to use magic to stop him?” Hermione asked. 

No one responded for it was clear to everyone the rules pertaining to that.  Hermione’s question wasn’t meant to be answered, but to remind everyone of the consequences of what might happen.  The clock approached five.  Randolph had the galleons in the bag, the weight so heavy that Hermione suggested a Muggle rolling suitcase to hold it all.  They’d just look like another tourist in the area. 

A team of Aurors went ahead to the staging area, escorting the money in the bag, several flasks of Polyjuice potion and one vial of Veritaserum.   It was finally decided that Kreighton would make the swap, disguised as Ron and with several shield spells surrounding him.  A few minutes before five, Hermione was attempting her last stand as they walked toward the Apparition site outside the Ministry.  She tried to convince Harry to put her in place of Kreighton, unaware that the substitution had already left for Trafalgar Square. 

Harry’s cell phone rang seconds before reaching the Apparition spot. 

“Potter,” Harry answered, flipping it open.  Then a startled, “what?  I’m on my way.”  He snapped it shut and immediately grabbed Hermione by the sleeve, pulling her down the corridor and out the door.  “Ron went to make the drop!” 

“He what?”  She ran along side him as they reached the designated Apparition spot.  "But he was asleep, and I told Kreighton..."  Within seconds they both appeared just west of Trafalgar Square, immediately sprinting until they saw some of their own men.  Auror robes had been traded in for denims and tacky shirts in an attempt to blend in with the general public that strolled through this area, blind to the criminal activity around them.  Little did they know that shield spells floated invisibly around them, a barrier against the unspeakables that might threaten them.  Kreighton ran toward them, terror on his face. 

“I’m sorry, Sir.  Auror Weasley ordered me to give him the case.  He said the plan had changed.  I didn’t know…” He glanced at Hermione, probably recognizing the same disappointment in her stare.

And there, some fifty yards away, approaching the fountain, Ron shuffled wearily.  A case on wheels rolled along side him, but even that appeared to be too taxing for his limp arms.  Slowly, he stepped over the wall and into the fountain, lugging the bag over with him.  Several onlookers peered at him with trepidation.  One tourist took a picture and several children laughed at the silly man now wading through the fountain, water up to his thighs. 

“What’s he doing?” Harry and Hermione asked in concert. 

“We received a note, Sir.  Just before five o’clock.  It said to take the money, step into the fountain and drop it next to the mermaid.”  Kreighton appeared deeply concerned.  “I was going to do it, but…” 

“Ron!”  Hermione cried, launching herself forward.  Terror consumed her.  She couldn’t let him do this!  Ignoring the public or any danger that might be in wait, she sprinted toward him. 

Harry ran behind her, catching her only yards before the water.  “Hermione, no!” 

“Let go of me, Harry!”  She yanked at her arm. 

Several people looked at them and clearly questioned their conversation.  Harry released his grip under the glare of several Muggle men and a couple approaching police.  Hermione knew it wasn’t fear that compelled Harry, but the threat of disclosure and she used it to her advantage, making her escape. 

The flock of pigeons scattered, their wings beating noisily as Hermione ran through their midst.   

“Follow her!” Harry yelled, she assumed to Kreighton, but she was focused on one thing only. 

She had to get to Ron, but while attracting as little attention as possible.  That seemed an impossibility at the moment.  Carrow had picked a perfect spot, full of people.  No place for them to secretly stun a dark wizard without hundreds of eyes to witness.  But how was he going to take the galleons in front of all these people?  Maybe Carrow _was_ crazy enough to not care about exposing their entire world. 

Ron seemed to be laboring with the water swollen luggage.  It was taking him time to move through the fountain.  Walking swiftly forward, she closed the distance to the fountain; finally meeting Ron’s apologetic gaze in what she prayed wasn’t their last moment together.  She wanted to scream at him for doing this, to pound on him like she had that bleak mid-winter day in the tent when he reappeared to them, soaking wet and holding Gryffindor's sword.  But she also wanted to tell him how much she loved him.  Instead, she calmly slipped into the water behind him, wading toward the famous stone mermaid with determination, ignoring the protests and shouts from the public. 

Ron stopped just yards from the mermaid, but Hermione kept advancing, her denims heavy with the weight of the water soaking into them.  Each step carried an anvil’s worth of liquid.  On her left, Auror Kreighton had climbed in as well, closing the distance on her fast.  She couldn’t spare the time to check on Harry, but heard his voice.  It sounded as if he was running interference with the local Muggle police, probably trying to convince them that Ron was some misdirected soul or feverish delusional who just needed medical help. 

Hermione wasn’t sure why Ron had stopped until she noticed the glow of a wand tip extending from the mouth of the fish held in the mermaid’s arms, the fountain’s contents flowing freely from it.   

“Where’s Diane Randolph?” Ron shouted over the sound of streaming water.  “I’ve done what you wanted.  I brought the money, but I want to see Diane.” 

Hermione realized that to the general public, this must have looked insane, a grown man, holding a suitcase speaking to a stone fish while wading up to his thighs in a public water fountain.  Kreighton was only steps behind her and she was just yards from reaching Ron, but she had no idea what would happen when either of them got there.  A small gathering of people now surrounded the fountain, staring at the odd man talking to the fish. 

Harry’s voice shouted over the rush of water and conversing people.  “Ron, we’ve got her!”  Hermione looked at Harry as he closed his mobile phone.  “We’ve got Diane!  Get out of there!” 

With barely enough time to react, Hermione saw the water-disguised wand flick back.  “No!”  She lurched forward just as Ron jerked violently back several feet into the air and landed on his back in a reverse belly-flop.  It looked as if an invisible rope had pulled him backward into the pond.  The suitcase sunk inconsequentially, Ron’s body sucked under the water, only his feet breaking the surface. 

“RON!” 

Hermione dove into the water, unsure if Ron had hit his head or been knocked unconscious.  Kreighton arrived seconds later and both tried to lift Ron, but he wouldn’t budge.  The two of them worked frantically, but Ron’s body held perfectly still, rooted to the concrete below.  They sucked in air, dove under and tried to get their hands below his head, his shoulder, anything, but he was mercilessly pressed against the floor and the coins that adorned it. 

“He’s stuck!”  Kreighton spurted, gasping for another breath before he dove underneath Ron’s legs, trying to pry them free.  But, after wasting several precious seconds, Hermione realized the spell from the wand still held Ron under, easily obscured by the flowing water.  Kreighton cried out as he broke the surface.  “Shite!  The spell hit me.  It stings,” he panted. 

“He’s drowning!” she screamed, gasps coming from the general public, Kreighton now stood in a squat over his shoulders, straining with all his might to pull him free and her wand only a fingertip away.   

“HARRY!”  she cried out desperately, knowing she had to act, had to break the spell, but was surrounded by Muggles.  A few of them, including police, were jumping in the fountain to help the fallen stranger who lie trapped beneath the water.  Godfrey leaped over the wall and headed toward them as well.  “Harry, do something!”  Kreighton's eyes darted to hermione's fingertips, just hovering over her pocket and the wand that lay within, he her eyes one last time and dove under again. 

She reached for her wand, knowing the severity of the crime she was about to commit.  She’d spend the rest of her life in prison.  Kreighton broke the surface and gasped, still pulling on Ron’s shoulders.  The arsenal of spells at her disposal was considerable, but the terror of watching her love drown seemed to zap her memory.  She rifled through everything she could remember, but could only picture Ron’s blue eyes pulsing from the lack of oxygen.  

For the briefest second, the water stilled as if time had slowed its motion and she blinked, Ron’s face coming into wavy view.  His eyes were open, his ginger hair floating like seaweed and his arms out wide at his sides.  His lips moved and bubbles danced on the surface.  “Hermione.” 

And then she thought clearly.  She had no other choice.  She had to break the connection.  If she placed herself in the path of the spell, it would release him. 

Kreighton roared as he strained to pull him loose, his great bulging muscles straining with Herculean effort.  Hermione looked toward the angle of the wand in the fish, the disturbance in the air where the spell held power over its subject, and took a deep breath and stepped in front of the wand’s stream.  The force of the spell slammed into her chest like the shock of lightening.  It hurt.  It hurt a lot, pulsing through every limb as if a thousand Cruciatus curses had been thrown at once.  Her body lifted up and back, then the sound of the water concussing her bones as she broke the surface.  Then nothing. 

It was peaceful.  

All was quiet.  

Nothing hurt and all she could think was that Ron was safe.  

She smiled in contentment as Sirius’s voice said “Welcome, Hermione.”  

The pain roared back as she burst through the surface of the water.  Someone had their hands under her arms, lifting her up and she coughed, struggling to pull air back into her lungs.  A voice spoke to her, she recognized it. 

“Ms. Granger!  Ms. Granger!  Hermione, are you alright?  It’s alright.  Breathe.  I’ve got you.  I’ve got you, don’t worry.”  She was being dragged through the water, a pair of hands wrapped around her torso and she opened her eyes to see Harry perched about ten feet directly above her, standing on top the mermaid.  The water no longer flowed from the fish and Harry’s hand was wedged down along side the large statue.  She tried to stand, but her limbs seemed unable to assist her.  A second later she was lying on a piece of concrete, her throat irritated, a burning in her lungs. 

“R-ron!” she coughed, searching through her soaked hair.  Someone threw a towel or blanket over her.  The same voice that spoke to her, now shouted at her right. 

“Keep pumping!”  It took a moment for Hermione to realize that Kreighton, Godfrey and some unknown man in uniform were all working over the water-logged Ron beside her.  Kreighton pumped his chest, "am I doing this right?" and Godfrey pushing air into his mouth.  She was confused and grateful all at the same time.  Why and how they knew to use Muggle CPR didn’t matter.  At least they were acting. 

Suddenly, it seemed very quiet.  At first she thought that in her grief and panic, she had lost sense of time or her ears were filled with water.  She knew that hundreds of bodies had surrounded her, but now all was still. 

Ripping her eyes away from Ron’s prone form, she saw hundreds of eyes glazed and staring straight ahead, their bodies immobile, some in mid-stride, one man caught in mid-air diving into the water.  Her gaze snapped to Harry, still perched on the mermaid, his hand pointed straight to the sky, a burst of energy flowing from the tip of his wand like an umbrella over the fountain.  Several other Auror’s around the square appeared the same, some clearly straining to maintain the spell.  There wasn’t time to understand what they were doing or how they were doing it, she just scrambled painfully to Ron’s side as she heard Harry yell, “Hermione, Ennervate!  Do it now!  We only have seconds!” 

She scrambled for her wand, every muscle aching, but adrenaline pushing her through.  “Ennervate!  Ennervate!”  Hermione’s wand tapped desperately against Ron’s chest.  “Anhelo aer!  Ronald, please!  Breathe!”  She pressed her mouth over his, exhaling with all her might.  She wouldn’t let him drown.   

Kreighton and Godfrey joined in, crying out ‘Ennervate’ and ‘Anhelo aer’ repeatedly, Kreighton still pumping Ron’s chest with labored grunts as the uniformed man sat like a mannequin, frozen on his knees.  Then a crack. 

“Shite!  Cracked a rib,” Kreighton panted, still dripping with water. 

She forced another breath into Ron’s mouth and sat back, her hair clung to her face.  “Ronald Weasley!  You breathe right this second!  Fight for it!”  She exhaled into him again.  “FIGHT!  BREATHE!” 

But Ron lay spread eagle, his eyes open, unmoving.  Kreighton kept pumping, but everyone else stopped as if preparing for the grief to consume them.  “Ronald…” Hermione stroked his face.  “Please, I love you.  Please, please come back.” She fell to his chest, gripping his soaked shirt as she rested her head against him, her wand still in her grip.  One final weak tap against him as she sobbed, "Ennervate."

Kreighton stopped.  His pants combining with Godfrey's and the soft drip of water mixing with her own tears.  She pressed her head against him, willing his heart to beat, listening for any sound of life.  This couldn't be.  It wasn't fair.

"No!" she screamed, sitting up.  "Keep pumping!"

Kreighton and Godfrey exchanged a look and Kreighton folded his hands to resume as Godfrey moved to Hermione's side, obviously ready to console her, but she drew in another breath to push into his lungs.

Ron's body jerked, a feeble cough, then another as he blinked.  Kreighton rolled him onto his side.  “Expelsum aqua!” Hermione called and a cauldron full of water spewed from Ron’s mouth, spilling onto the concrete surrounding them. 

“Williams, I need you!  Get up here!”  Harry yelled and within a second Williams and two other Aurors scaled the side of the mermaid. 

Ron’s eyes blinked as he continued to hack.  Exhaustion, relief and overwhelming stress erupted into tears as Hermione crumpled beside him, grabbing his wet shirt in her fist.  His soaked but comforting arm landed with a flop on her side as Ron coughed.     

“We can’t hold it any longer,” Harry cried.  “Secure your wands!” 

Godfrey took the wand from her hand and tucked it away.  She didn’t fight him.  Ron continued to cough and wheeze, struggling to bring himself back.  As if time had merely hiccupped, the people began to move again, the volume spun back to ten.  The uniformed man almost tipped over, but Godfrey escorted him away, explaining that he'd done a great job.  Williams, Philips and several others formed a perimeter around Ron and Hermione.  Godfrey returned and remained on the ground with them, Kreighton lifting his huge mass as an impressive body guard over the three. 

Minutes passed – maybe hours.  Sirens wailed, voices mixed and then hands attempted to pull her away.  This time she resisted. 

“Ms. Granger…Hermione, let go.”  Godfrey had her wrist, attempting to pull her free.  She opened her eyes and saw Ron look back, his voice rough and raspy, but sure.  “Take her.  Go with Hugh, Hermione.” 

“No…no.” 

“He’ll be right behind us, I promise,” Godfrey assured. 

She felt the same sure arms helping her up, Godfrey’s voice comforting as it had been before.  “Up you go.  We have a nice big auto for you to ride in.  We’ll go get you checked out and you’ll be home before you know it.”  He helped her into a large SUV.  But Ron was strapped to a gurney and being lifted into a Muggle ambulance. 

“Where are they taking Ron?  I need to go with him!”  Godfrey held her arm. 

“Don’t worry.  We’ll have him back in a few minutes.  It’s just for appearances, right?”  Hermione met his hazel eyes and saw once again the honesty and kindness of Hugh Godfrey.  She trusted him and sat back in her seat. 

***  

Ron woke up, immediately knowing the pale yellow walls of St. Mungo’s.  He’d spent too many days in this place not to know it at first glance.  He ached all over, but still felt better than he had the day before.  Something warm moved over his hand and he turned his head on the pillow, a beautiful set of brown eyes staring back at him. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked. 

He smiled and reached out, pinching the damp brown and gray locks.  “Your hair is still wet.” 

“That’s your fault.  I’m so relieved to be talking to you that I can’t even get angry, but give it time.” 

Ron recognized the smile in her eyes and his hand wrapped around her fingers.  “My throat hurts.” 

“It should.  You coughed up a fountain full of water.” 

“Well, at least I’m not thirsty,” he joked, but then winced at a pain in his side. 

“Kreighton cracked one of your ribs when he was doing CPR.” 

“CPR?  Isn’t that the Muggle thing when someone beats your heart for you?” 

“Exactly.” 

“You mean, my heart stopped beating?” his eyes bulged. 

“We almost lost you,” she whispered moving closer and running her fingers through his hair, nervously chewing her lower lip.  Having been unconscious, he obviously didn’t have the same reaction as her to his near-death experience, but his heart still ached watching the wounded expression wash over her face.  It certainly impacted her.  “I don’t know what I would have done…” she warbled. 

“Shhh.  I’m fine.”  He slipped his hand around her waist and she automatically dropped down and held him to her chest.   

“I love you, Ronald and I almost watched you die!”  She pulled back and shook him once by the shoulders.  “Don’t you _ever_ do that to me again!” 

She meant it, that was for certain.  He felt obliged to promise her anything if it would just get her to smile again, but he knew his job was inherently dangerous and he’d probably nix death several more times during his lifetime.  This was one occasion when he decided a lie might be better than the truth.   

“I won’t, I promise.”  He stroked her cheek, hoping to erase those tiny worry lines that stretched out from her eyes.  “So, tell me what happened.  I just remember flying into the air and then I was on the ground soaking wet.” 

“Well, it ends up that Carrow is pretty insane, but quite the tricky dark wizard.”  Hermione edged herself up onto the side of the bed.  “He managed to somehow fit himself inside the mermaid statue in the fountain.  He won’t say how he did it.” 

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”  He could already picture her in front of the books. 

She grinned.  “He knew no one would be able to use magic with all the Muggles around so he masked his wand in the water fountain and then pinned you to the bottom of the fountain bed.  Auror Kreighton and I tried to get your free, but we couldn’t, not without using magic.  I thought I was going to end up dead or in prison for the rest of my life, because damn if I wasn’t about to use my wand to get you free.” 

“Damn?  Must have been terrible if you’re actually using foul language.”  She smirked at him.  He could almost hear the ‘smart arse’ reply. 

“Um…but you got loose and Harry did some pretty amazing things to cover it all up.”  She stopped talking far too soon.  Ron recognized the subterfuge and cocked his head. 

“And?” 

“And what?” she asked far too innocently. 

“You haven’t told me everything.” 

“Well, it’s just a bunch of details.  You get the idea.” 

“I like details and if I don’t get them from you, I’ll get them from Harry.” 

Hermione exhaled.  “Fine, I’ll tell you if you explain to me why you went out there in the first place.  We agreed not to go without each other.  Harry and I were discussing a plan and…” 

“Yeah, you were discussing a plan that involved _you_ going out there.  I wasn’t going to allow that.  But I have an idea that you went and did something foolish anyway.  Am I right?” 

“No more foolish than you, Ronald.” 

“Fine, we were foolish together.  Now tell me.” 

“Promise you won’t get angry and you’ll let me finish.”  She paused, he just raised his eyebrows.  “I stepped in front of the spell, breaking its connection to you.  But Harry managed to stop the flow of water and stun Carrow inside the fountain at the same moment.  So, I didn’t get hit as hard as you did.” 

Hermione appeared ready for Ron's scolding, but a tapping drew their attention to the door.  It cracked open and a head peered around the corner.  A head covered in long blonde hair. 

“Hi, can I come in?” 

“Sure,” Ron invited. 

Diane shuffled in wearing a pale blue bathrobe, white socks on her feet.  Her eye was bruised, but it was clear a healing spell had already turned it purplish-yellow.  Her lip showed the remnant of swelling, a tiny dark red mark still healing in the corner.   

“I don’t mean to interrupt.  I just wanted to see if you were alright.”   

“We should be asking you the same thing.”  Ron swung his legs over the side of the bed, but didn’t stand.  Wearing the traditional hospital garb, it wouldn’t be wise to get up.  Besides, he highly doubted his legs would support him at the moment.  Hermione shifted uncomfortably and stood up. 

“I’ll just give you two a moment.” 

“Oh, no, you don’t have to leave,” Diane argued.   

“It’s alright.  I’ll just be outside if you need me.”  Hermione kissed Ron on the cheek and he squeezed her hand.  It seemed that she had finally accepted Ron’s assurances that all was sound between them.  He felt so relieved not to sense her look of distrust any longer. 

The door closed as Hermione left and Diane took a few more steps forward.  “I heard what happened and I just wanted to say thank you for what you did.”  She looked down. 

Ron’s nature drove him to feel compassion for the girl.  He wanted to say something kind, to assure her and himself that she was going to be alright.  And yet, he felt so hesitant to reignite any kind of emotional connection between them, fearful of the consequences. 

“Diane, I’m so sorry this happened to you.  It was your relationship with me that caused all of this.” 

“Maybe,” she glanced up, “…but I was the one who started all of this and tried to keep it going, even though you didn’t really want it.” 

Ron nodded.  She was right.  “Still, I never would have wished this on you.”  Looking a bit closer at her face, he grimaced at the cuts and bruises marring her otherwise lovely features.  “Did Carrow do that?” he asked, gesturing toward her face. 

“Yeah,” she glanced down again, ashamed perhaps, maybe just too frightened to remember. 

“Come here.”  He reached out a hand.  Pausing, she looked at it and carefully rested her hand into his palm.  With a gentle tug, he urged her forward until she was standing about a foot away.  “Did you file a report with the Aurors?  They’ll prosecute him for kidnapping and assault and battery.”  She nodded, gulped uncomfortably and looked away again.  Ron got a sudden, twisting sensation in his stomach.  One that told him there was more here than just a split lip.  “Diane, do we need to prosecute him for _more_ than just battery?”   

He pulled her a half-step closer, his concern and a sense of justice outweighing any personal issues.  He slipped a hand gently around her waist and spoke in a whisper.  “It’s alright.  You can tell me.  I’m your friend.” 

Diane drew in a deep breath and her eyes watered over as she nodded. 

“Tell me what happened.  Did he… _touch_ you inappropriately?” 

She nodded, a tear trailing down her cheek.  Ron swallowed hard, afraid of what he might hear next.  

“He made me do some things.  They were vile and nasty.  The place was horrible, Ronald.  He had hooks hanging from the ceiling and he kept threatening to do these awful things to me…” she choked and Ron squeezed her hand, recognizing how hard it was for her to tell him this.  “He chained me to this cot and he was about to…” she struggled, closing her eyes “…you know…but John called him away before he could…”   

“John?”  Ron only knew one John and he was too much of a louse to help anyone. 

“Carrow’s cousin.  He saved me.  Twice.” 

“Twice?”  He couldn’t believe what she was saying. 

“John came back later without Carrow.  At first I thought he was as crazy as his cousin and he was going to have his turn with me.  He kept asking me if I was a witch and if I had put a spell on him.  But then he just started talking to me and well, he seemed nice.  We talked for hours.  Mostly he talked and I listened, but then suddenly he was sitting on the cot with me and one thing led to another and he reached around me to give me a hug.  He told me he was going to help me get out and that everything would be alright.  And then the Portkey activated.  I didn’t even think he was a wizard, but we were both sailing through the air and then bang, we’re lying in the Ministry courtyard and there were about ten Aurors standing around us.” 

“You have Hermione to thank for that.  He's a Muggle.” 

“What?” 

“She placed the Portkey on him.  He didn’t know about it.” 

“Oh, my god.  She saved my life.” 

“Well, I’m glad you’re alright.  You just make sure you report all of this and if you need to talk some more, you just let me know.  I mean that.” 

“What’s going to happen to John?  They hauled him off, but I don’t know where they took him.” 

“I believe he was handed over to the Muggle authorities.  He has some outstanding charges on him.  Diane, you want to stay away from him.  He’s bad news.  Violent, manipulative.  Not the kind of bloke you want to be with.” 

“Not like you,” she blushed and Ron blinked, praying for a good end to this conversation.  “He’s very troubled, Ronald.  He needs therapy, but I think underneath it all he really is a good person.  Do you think they’d let me see him in the Muggle prison?” 

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea.  You should just try to put all of this behind you and move on.  Like I said, if you need to talk, you just let me know, but don’t use the Floo without asking, alright?” 

She looked hard at him for a brief second.  “Are you with Hermione now?  I know you told me it wasn’t her, but I’m not blind.” 

“Yes, I’m with her and that’s not going to change, ever.” 

She nodded and sniffed.  “Well, I guess I should go back to my room.  I think they’re going to release me in another hour or so.  Daddy is causing a bit of a stir.  He’s got all the attendants running around fluffing my pillows, getting me food, adjusting the temperature.  It’s a zoo in there!”  She smiled and Ron felt encouraged that this girl would pull through just fine. 

“Yeah, well, he’s your dad and you have to expect that.  I’m sure my mum has already buzzed through here, but I probably slept through it.  Thank Merlin,” he grinned. 

She took a step back, squeezed his hand and let go.  “Well, I’d better go.”  It appeared she was searching for the right exit greeting, but finally glanced up and said “Bye.” 

Hermione walked in about thirty seconds later, a frown on her face.  Harry and Ginny were right behind her. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked. 

“They just took Diane off to quarantine,” said Hermione.  “Appears Carrow is sick and they think it’s the virus.” 

“Damn, I hope he didn’t pass that on to her.  She had a rough enough time,” Ron commented, recalling their conversation. 

“We’ll take good care of her,” assured Ginny.  “Healer Parker has been so involved with me and all this testing that he’s started working on it, too.  Said he’s going to stick around for a few more weeks and see if he can help us figure out a way to stop it.” 

“He’s a good man,” said Harry. 

“And a good healer,” added Ginny. 

“So, what about Carrow?  Is he going to live to see his court date?” asked Hermione. 

“He’s losing weight and running a high fever.  Thing is, he already has several medical conditions so he’s not all that physically strong.  Nuclidite counts are now included in the battery of tests so I did find out that he’s magically very strong.  Too bad it was all used for evil.” 

“He needs to be locked up for the rest of his life.”   

Everyone nodded, all in agreement. “So, mate, how you feeling?” 

“I’ll live, thanks to all of you,” Ron smiled and then turned his focus to Harry.  “I want to know what you did.  I’ve heard the blokes talking about the amazing thing you did when they were hauling me into the ambulance.  Have you been keeping some magical secrets from me, oh great Potter boy?”  Everyone grinned at that. 

“Yeah, what was the spell you used?” asked Hermione.  “You must have frozen a hundred people in that square and you managed to capture Carrow.” 

“Wasn’t just me.  I just got Carrow with a stunner.  He thought we’d never use magic with all the Muggles around, but he was wrong.  You see, the blokes in spell development have been asking us to test some new things and just last week they came to us with this new spell.  Basically works like a shield charm, with multiple wizards able to combine to grow the shield.  It sort of immobilizes all the Muggles, leaves them in a sort of suspended animation.  We had only tried it once before, but it worked.  I just had to come up with some good lies to convince the police that you were a dementia patient who had wandered off with your suitcase, determined to go back to your wife who you thought was a mermaid.” 

“Oh, great, now I’m a crackpot.” 

“With a mermaid wife!” Ginny added, giggling. 

“Well, better that then being in jail,” argued Harry. 

“When did you do all this testing?  Where was I?” mumbled Ron. 

“Some of us had to work.  You, my fine fellow, were busy _bonding_ with Hermione.  You need to get your priorities straight, mate.  What’s it going to be?  Tinkering with new spells or hot wizard lovin’ with your girl?” 

Hermione blushed profusely, “I’m not hot.” 

“Oh, yes you are!” Ron countered, pulling her down on top of him.  Harry wrapped an arm around Ginny who just laughed. 


	27. Chapter 27 - And Justice For All

  
Author's notes: Sorry to be a little late getting this out.  I'm sure some of you have been anxiously anticipating the next chapter.  As always, my thanks to Indie for being my second brain.  Also, thanks to everyone who has been asking if I have something else in the works.  It's really neat to know that you all like my writing enough to request more.  I do have a few stories that I haven't finished.  I might go back and look them over and see what I can do to get them up, but it may be a little while before they're done.  So, for now, enjoy the rest of Renaissance.  We still have this chapter, plus 28 and an epilogue.  


* * *

Chapter 27 – And Justice For All 

Hermione sat in her office.  It had been a busy morning.  After being out for so long she had a lot to catch up on and even more to learn, all while handling a lot of high profile news.  It had been three days since the incident at Trafalgar Square, an event that headlined the news every day with panic-filled editorials about how their entire world had been revealed to hundreds of Muggles and investigations into Carrow and his entire family.  And, as if the famous trio hadn’t been in the news enough already, Harry’s spectacular spell work and Ron’s return from the dead had reignited the hero worship to the nth degree. It would have been overwhelming for even the most seasoned press secretary, but for Hermione, it was just a challenge.  Truthfully, she procrastinated her return to work for the sole reason that she wanted to stay and look after Ron. 

After being released from St. Mungo’s, he continued to improve and not just from his near drowning.  With nothing to latch onto, it seemed the virus was in a loosing battle with Ron’s own antibodies.  His appetite returned, his fever continued, but much lower and the cough was now the result of an irritated throat, not the chesty pneumonic hack that had scared them just days before.  He continued to struggle with a general case of malaise which could certainly be attributed to his loss of magic, but he was sleeping less and spending more time amongst the living every day.  Hermione began to look forward to dinner time, watching him scarf down his food with the same vigor she had witnessed in years past. 

But still no magic.   

Flipping through some paperwork, she found the will she had written just ten days earlier and debated even filing it with an attorney.  Ridiculous as it seemed, the negative thoughts that had driven her to write the document left her with feelings of shame.  Looking back, that moment had truly been her lowest point.  She didn’t want to dwell on it and yet, having those memories, experiencing such loss of hope made her current outlook all that brighter.  Her worries now settled on Ron and how this would impact him.  She prepared herself for several possible outcomes and watched him daily for signs of the same depression that had gnawed at her as she had contemplated life without her special skills.  Surprisingly, he had demonstrated a mental attitude far from depressed over the past couple of days. 

She smiled, tucking the will back in the envelope and recalling the events from the previous evening.  Ron had never acted this way before.   Several times, Hermione wasn’t sure if she were still touching the ground.  Maybe the sex had provided the motivation, but she was experiencing the true meaning of being swept off her feet. 

Ignoring anyone else in the room, Ron’s hands were constantly on her - but not groping with the immaturity of a teen.  This was the slow, erotic caress of a lover: little tickles under the edge of her shirt, his fingertips stroking her palm, circles of pleasure drawn on her back and lots of tender, small, sweet kisses.  She’d step in the kitchen, he’d follow and wrap his arms around her waist from behind.  She’d sit and he’d discover a way to be near her.  And his smile.  It just melted away every molecule of loneliness that had ever resided within her. 

Dressed in his navy, terry-cloth robe, flannel pajama pants and socks, he looked like an advertisement for flu potion or a handkerchief manufacturer.  He brought out her mothering instincts, something she had never truly experienced before.  Checking his temperature, fixing him soup, these were all inherent maternal traits.  After Molly’s recent visit, Hermione worried that she might be smothering him with the kind of attention he’d rather do without.  But he didn’t seem to mind.  He just smiled and snuck in kisses whenever the opportunity presented itself.   

Harry’s home had become a haven for health, family, friendships and love.  She knew they’d need to get back to their flats and jobs soon and give Harry his peace and quiet.  But, it was so wonderful waking up beside Ron, sharing a bed, she dreaded a return to their normal lives, not that any day in her future would ever be defined as normal again.  Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. 

“Come in.” 

A pair of bright green eyes peered around the door. 

“Hey!” she greeted as the door swung open to reveal not only Harry but Ginny right behind him. 

“How’s it going?” he asked.  “We’re going to grab some lunch and thought you might like to join us.” 

“Sure!  I’d love to.”  Hermione straightened her stack of papers and they all started walking toward the Ministry canteen.  “I’m sorry I fell asleep last night before you got back.  How was your dinner date?” 

“Good!” Harry exclaimed.  “Great food and even better company.” 

Hermione glanced over and noticed how the two of them were battling a severe case of the grins.  It was infectious and Hermione felt her own cheeks swell. 

“The restaurant was lovely.  Harry bought me roses and we sipped champagne,” Ginny explained. 

“Hmm, sounds really nice.  I think I could use an evening like that.”  The lift opened and they stepped on, surprised to find it empty at this time of day. 

“Well?” Ginny nudged Harry in the side.  “Are you going to tell her or am I?” 

Hermione couldn’t help but smile watching the two of them in some silent conversation. 

“Go ahead,” he urged, still grinning as if his cheeks were about to explode. 

With unparalleled excitement, Ginny thrust her hand forward, intentionally wiggling her finger.  Hermione gasped at the brilliant diamond that twinkled back at her.  “Harry asked me to marry him!” 

“Oh!”  Hermione grabbed her hand as if needing to confirm that what she saw was real. 

The lift doors opened, but Hermione could have cared less who might be watching.  She pulled Ginny toward her and the two of them hugged and bounced up and down, both squealing in delight.  They even ignored the sound of someone clearing their throat until Harry tugged on both of them. 

Amidst the group of people waiting for the lift, Judge Randolph stood in the center, clearing his throat a bit louder.  Harry’s expression shifted to all business, but Hermione could have cared less.  The judge’s insults were still fresh in her memory and if he even thought of getting testy with her, she was going to give him a piece of her mind.  Still reeling from the news, Hermione’s voice rang with pleasantness.  “Good afternoon, Judge Randolph.  Did you hear the news?”  She glanced at Harry as if asking permission to tell. 

“News?” he grumbled, stepping aside as the rest of the lobby’s party exchanged places with them on the lift. 

Harry had that resigned ‘oh, go ahead’ expression and Hermione nearly giggled.  “Harry and Ginny are engaged!  Isn’t that just wonderful?” 

“Oh…um…yes, congratulations, Potter.”  Randolph thrust out his hand and Harry took it. 

“Thank you, sir.  How is Diane doing?” 

“She’s still in quarantine, but so far she hasn’t shown any symptoms.  We’re hopeful she’ll be allowed to come home in a day or two.” 

“That’s great news, your Honor,” said Hermione. 

“Um…” he coughed and rolled his lips, something on his mind.  “How is Auror Weasley?  Diane has been asking about him.” 

“He’s improving,” Hermione’s happy demeanor shifted at his mention of Diane’s query. 

“Will he be well enough to testify at the trial?” 

“Has a trial date been set?” Harry asked. 

“Day after tomorrow.” 

“That’s awfully soon,” Hermione commented. 

Ginny spoke up.  “I think the concern is that Carrow won’t be around to stand trial if we don’t have it soon.  He’s in horrible shape.  The healer in the jail’s infirmary contacted me.” 

“You can’t let Carrow in a courtroom full of people,” Hermione argued. 

“Oh, no…of course, not,” Randolph rumbled.  “Some of the Aurors are setting up a special room with Muggle equipment…what do you call it, Potter?” 

“Video cameras and monitors, sir.” 

“Yes, all of that so that we can watch him and he can watch us.” 

“Wow, Muggle equipment in a Wizengamot courtroom.  That’s a first,” added Hermione. 

“Yes, well, my daughter tells me we need to move with the times.”  He attempted what looked like a smile. 

“Well, I’m sure that Ron will be there, so will I.” 

“Yes, well, you’ll all probably be receiving a request for appearance this afternoon.” 

“I’m not a bit surprised,” offered Harry. 

“Yes, well, thank you for your time.”  Randolph nodded his head once and stepped onto the next lift that had just opened before them. 

Harry, Ginny and Hermione continued toward the canteen.  With sandwiches and drinks in hand, they found a table a bit away from the crowds.  Hermione was curious about Ginny’s previous statement and decided to just ask. 

“So, is Carrow really that bad off?” 

“Yeah,” said Ginny.  “Personally, I’d like him to just suffer on his way to an early grave, but damn if I didn’t take a healer’s oath.” 

“How close are you on a cure?” Hermione asked, sipping her drink. 

“Close, but not close enough.  Parker is doing a great job helping us.  It sort of tied together with his other research and after I showed him what we’d been developing, he got curious and asked if he could help.  We know that the virus won’t live without the magical cells, but we just can’t figure out a way to get around that.” 

“So, then what are you going to do about Carrow?” 

“I’m going to tell him the truth,” she took a bite of her sandwich, but Hermione noticed a distinct satisfaction in her tone and glanced at Harry to see if he noticed it, too.  Both of them shot Ginny a look, waiting patiently for her to complete her thought.  She swallowed and put on a bright face.  “I’m going to tell him that the only way to cure him is to use his own stripping spell and take his magic.” 

“Oh, that’s too sweet,” Harry muttered.  “I almost feel sorry for the bloke…” Hermione and Ginny snapped disgusted looks at him “…I said almost.” 

Finishing lunch, Hermione waited as Harry kissed Ginny goodbye, their embrace lingering just long enough for her to notice the new facet to their relationship.  Her cheeks felt tight.  

_They’re going to be husband and wife._  

It warmed her just thinking of it.  She loved them both, but felt the moisture build in her eyes picturing the unwanted green-eyed boy sitting in a closet, suffering with thoughts of why no one loved him.  Somewhere, some cosmic gear had finally clicked and all seemed right and just in the universe. 

Ginny nearly skipped off, turning to wave her decorated finger one last time at them. 

“I’m so happy for you, Harry.”  She gave her own hug and they started back toward the lifts.   

“Thanks.” 

“Have you told Ron?” 

“Not yet.  He was asleep and I didn’t want to wake him.” 

“What about the Weasleys?  Do they know?” 

“I wanted to tell Ron first, make sure he didn’t try to pummel me or anything.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes and playfully bumped Harry as they strode down the corridor.  “Well, we can tell him, or rather _you_ can tell him tonight and then we can have a big noisy celebration!” 

“Sounds good,” he chuckled.  “You know, I kind of like having you all in the house.  It feels much more lived in.  With just me there, it’s far too quiet.” 

“Well, now you’ll have Ginny there with you and I’m sure it won’t be long before the pitter patter of little feet will fill the halls.” 

“Rushing things, aren’t you?” 

“No rush.  I’m just looking forward to being Auntie Hermione.”  The lift doors opened and they stepped on, halting their conversation for the brief lift ride.  When they got off and stepped into the lobby, she pulled him to the side.  “Seriously though, Harry, I do realize that Ron and I have been your house guests for a long time now.  You’ve basically put everything aside to care for us.  We’ve been eating your food and lounging around your kitchen and, well…I think it’s best if I get back to my own place.” 

“You’re welcome to stay.  Really.” 

“Thanks.  I appreciate that, but I really want to be in my own flat.” 

“Whatever you want to do, it’s fine with me.  Just know that you’re always welcome.” 

“You could help with one thing.” 

“Anything.” 

“I hate to even ask this, but as I’ve been basically unemployed for the past three weeks, I’m seriously low on funds.  I’m going to see if there’s any way to get out of my lease on that flat.  Too many disturbing memories.  I was just wondering…” 

“You need some gold?  It’s not a problem, Hermione.  What do you need?” 

“I’m not sure yet, but I promise I’ll repay you with interest.” 

“Nonsense.  You’re my sister, it’s a gift.  You just figure out what you want to do and let me know.” 

She kissed his cheek.  “Thank you.” 

***  

Having been cleared through the two previous security doors, Ginny marched up to the desk in the outer lobby of the incarceration wing.  A burgundy robed man looked up. 

“May I help you?” 

“Healer Robinson in your infirmary asked me to come by.” 

“You’re Ms. Weasley?” 

“Yes.” 

“May I see some identification?” Ginny pulled out her St. Mungo’s ID card and presented her wand for inspection.  The guard glanced at the card and wand, and then her before handing it back.  “Come with me.” 

Within a few minutes, Ginny sat behind the same window that Ron had used to spy on Hermione and John just days before.  This time it had been charmed to transfer sound.  Parties on either side could speak and hear through the glass.  A chair sat directly in front of the glass window.  There was no other furniture.  Personally, she didn’t want to be this near to the man, even with a security wall between them, but there wasn’t time to argue that point.  The red security door on the far end of the interrogation room opened and another guard in similar robes escorted a pitiful looking creature into the room. 

Carrow dragged his sock-covered feet to the wooden chair and slumped down.  His already gangly shape had turned to hauntingly grotesque, his black hair and dark irises enhanced by even darker circles under his eyes, hollowed cheekbones and a raspy sound when he breathed.  The way his wrists bent toward each other, she knew that he was bound magically. 

“What do you want?” he asked, his eyes piercing at her through the glass.  Then recognition seemed to spark.  “Julie, darling!  You came to visit.  How sweet.” 

Ginny nearly shivered just being this close to the man.  To calm her own nerves, she turned to ensure that the guard was still nearby.  She hated showing any weakness in front of the inmate, but personal safety urged her to check. 

“Mr. Carrow, I’m a healer at St. Mungo’s and am specifically researching a cure for the virus that you seem to have contracted.” 

“Looks like you’re doing a smashing job,” he wheezed. 

Ginny recognized the sarcasm, but tried to stay focused on her job.  “I wanted to make sure you were aware of the seriousness of this virus.  Over twelve people have now died from it.  We do have some potions available that can help with the symptoms, but there is no definite cure.  With your other health conditions, it is possible, quite likely in fact that this virus could be fatal for you.” 

Carrow turned and coughed, intentionally directing his germs toward the guard in the room.  His eyes turned up slowly toward the man.  Ginny recognized how he was hoping to get a reaction, but she already had taken steps to assure that the guards posted on Carrow were all half-blood or less and hence, immune from the worst of it.  Frowning when he got no reaction, Carrow turned his attention back to Ginny. 

“So, you came here to tell me I’m gonna die?  How fucking considerate of you.” 

Ginny swallowed and frowned at his tone. 

_Just give him the news._  

“I’ve come here to tell you that there is a way for us to save your life.  It’s experimental, but has worked in one test case.” 

She finally noticed Carrow make eye contact, maybe just a glint of hope flashing in his eye.  “Are you going to tell me or just sit and stare at me all day like a dumb bitch?” 

Now she just wanted to slug him.  It felt good to be angry.  Hopefully the anger would overtake her nerves and stop the trembling in her legs.  Closing her eyes, she reached down, gripped the anger and tried to push it out as she delivered the information. 

“I know you are familiar with the Extirpare spell.” 

“Never…” he coughed and hacked something disgusting into his hand “…heard of it.”He slapped his sputum covered palm onto the glass and slid it down, leaving a trail of yellow slime. 

Ginny swallowed and tried to ignore the gross contamination before her, but it wasn’t helping calm the tremble at all.  “Extirpare is used to strip the witch or wizard of their magic.” 

“Sounds like fun.  Can I try it on you?” he curled his lip up, a foul looking set of yellow, misshapen teeth just adding to his already putrid appearance.   

“We can use this spell on you.  With your magic gone, the virus will have nothing to attach to and it will fade quickly.  You will live, but as a Squib.” 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!  You think I’m stupid enough to fall for that?  You want to castrate me, don’t you?  You’re just itching for a way to take my magic and you figure you can con me into this with some promise it will cure the common cold.” 

“It’s the only known cure at the moment.  This is meant to save your worthless, disgusting life.  So, you can take it or leave it.  I really don’t care.  Die now or die later.” 

“Ooo, she’s got spunk!” he turned and exclaimed to the guard behind him who she knew was trying to keep an even expression.  She recognized, however, that the guard was just as disgusted as she was.  “And…” his eyes passed over her hand “…look at the rock.  So, Julie, or should I just call you Potter’s little slut now, huh?”  He whispered, leaning toward the glass.  “Oh, yes, I know who you really are.”  Ginny bit down on her tongue.  It was taking all her effort to remain in control.  “Well, I hope Potter’s had his name tattooed to your pussy so you can’t run off whoring around on him.  Oh, yeah, I know you want me.”  He stuck his tongue out and wiggled it around. 

The guard’s eyes flashed to her, a moment of united fury. 

_That’s it. No more Miss Congeniality._  

She stood up.  “You’re going to have a whole new appreciation for the term whoring once they toss you in a nice, cozy prison cell.  You know, if I wanted to castrate you, I’d walk in right now, grab your tiny, worthless, shriveled sack of balls, s-l-o-w-l-y slice them off and smile as you painfully bled to death.  And the guard behind you would happily assist me.  So, don’t for a minute think that I’m offering this as revenge.  My revenge would be so much sweeter.  Instead, I’m going to let you keep your little bag of marbles so that the other inmates will have something to play with when you arrive!” 

She turned, her whole body shaking with fear and fury.  “Let me out of here,” she ordered walking to the door. 

Carrow kept talking.  “Aw, girly, don’t be mad.  Why don’t you come on in here and we’ll discuss it.” 

The guard released the door and it swung open.  Ginny couldn’t put one foot in the front of the other fast enough and Carrow called out after her.  “My balls will be anxiously awaiting your touch!” 

The door locked behind her and Ginny stopped and bent over, trying to catch her breath, her heartbeat rushing out of control.  Just being near the man was creepy enough without listening to his sick and twisted thoughts. 

“Ms. Weasley?” 

She couldn’t quite bring herself back to upright, but attempted to nod. 

“Are you alright?  Why don’t you sit down for a minute?” 

Across the tiled floor, she could make out a chair leg a few feet away and a gentle hand landed on her back and steered her toward it.   

“I’m fine.”  Maybe she was trying to convince herself and not the guard.  Either way, within a minute or so she sat back upright. 

“Can I get you some water or…” 

“No.  Thank you.  Could you please tell Healer Robinson in your infirmary that I did as he asked and the prisoner has refused?” 

“Yes, ma’am.  Do you need assistance getting home?” 

Ginny stood up, testing her legs to see the wobbles were gone enough for her to walk out on her own.  It was embarrassing to feel this frightened over a worthless creature like that who sat on the other side of a wall and with two burly armed guards standing within arms length.  But even with all the security, she couldn’t help feeling that the evil oozed from him, seeping through doors and floorboards, penetrating everything around her. 

With a deep breath, she gathered herself and left the detention center.  Winding down the hallway, she just wanted to be alone, to sit in private, maybe ball her eyes out just to get it out of her system.  But she had stood up to the man and had her say, in fact, she was pretty proud of herself.  She hadn’t jumbled up all her words and sounded like an idiot.  Grabbing onto that, she tried to focus on how well she had zinged him back and not on the absolute terror that was escalading her heartbeat. 

An open door on the left provided an escape and she slipped in to what must have been a conference room.  Finally alone and away from him, she slid down the wall and cried. 

***  

Harry sat at his desk, reviewing reports of the incident in Trafalgar Square.  He had to make sure all his I’s were dotted and t’s were crossed.  The prosecutors needed this information very soon.  His mobile phone rang and he flipped it open. 

“Potter.” 

“Sir, this is Corporal Mason in the detention wing.” 

“Yes, Corporal.  What can I do for you?” 

“I just wanted you to know that Ms. Weasley had a rather unpleasant experience with the Carrow prisoner.  He said some pretty disgusting things.  She wasn’t harmed, but she’s actually crying in the conference room on the detention wing.  I just thought you might want to know.” 

“Thank you, Mason.”  Harry snapped the phone shut and walked briskly out of his office, down the hall, past Whitcomb and into the corridor that started the detention wing.  A crying Ginny wasn’t a pleasant thought.  He didn’t deal well with crying.  It never had served a purpose when he was a boy and so he’d done away with it.  Now, seeing tears in the eyes of someone he loved was like hundreds of repressed childhood memories slamming into him.  Loving her like he did, his heart seemed to cushion the blow.  Slowing as he approached the conference room, he stopped to listen.  No sound.  Pushing the door open gently, he stuck his head in.  There on the floor sat Ginny, sniffing and wiping her face. 

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?”  He stepped into the room, quietly latching the door behind him. 

“Wh-”  sniff  “what are you doing here?”  She wiped at her eyes.  Harry could tell instantly that she was embarrassed for him to see her like this. 

“I work here,” he replied, not wishing to suffer Ginny’s temper on poor Mason.  “Why are you crying?”  He sat down on the floor beside her and placed a hand on her arm. 

“It’s nothing.”  She let out a deep breath.  “Silly really.  I’m fine.” 

“Then why are you shaking like this?” he asked, stroking his hand over her arm soothingly. 

“Stupid isn’t it?  There’s no reason for me to feel like this.  I had guards all around me.” 

“What did Carrow do?” he asked, scooting a little closer, almost afraid to hear.  Already he was working himself up, ready to slice the man’s tongue out of his head. 

“He’s a disgusting, evil, foul creature.  I think I’d rather face Voldemort himself than sit in a room with that…that…thing!” 

“I’m sorry you had to do that.” 

“It’s my job.” 

“Yes, but I’m still sorry he upset you.”  She puffed out another breath and tried to get up, but kept trembling.  Harry was sure she didn’t want comforting.  If he knew her, as he suspected he did, she could use a good dose of comedy or something positive to deal with.  Ginny had never been the type to wallow in sorrow or cry on his shoulder.  She just had to get it out of her system and then turn her attentions to something else.  Besides, with the murderous thoughts forming in his own head, he could certainly use the same distraction.  He just had to find an appropriate subject.  “So, have you thought about a wedding date yet?” 

Her puffy eyes snapped up to his and he almost felt her brain shift to the new topic.  “Um…sometime warm.  I want to be able to celebrate our anniversary with picnics and swim parties.” 

“Alright, warm it will be, even if I have to set an enormous heating charm over the area.” 

“I know it’s cliché, but I thought it might be nice to be a June bride.” 

“You mean I have to wait a whole year to make you my wife?”  She started to stand, using the wall for support. 

“Patience is a virtue, Harry.  Let’s see how virtuous you can be.” 

“I’ll be anything you want,” he said, boxing her in on the wall with his arms.  Even with a red nose and puffy eyes, she was the loveliest woman he’d ever known. 

“I just want _you_ , Harry.” She fingered a few strands of hair off his forehead.  “Messy hair, green eyes – I’ll even take the hero worship if I have to.” 

Harry couldn’t resist, even in this conference room with the threat of employees nearby, he just had to kiss her.  Pressing into her, his lips found home, moving slowly over hers.  The lingering taste of salty tears added to the flavor and he deepened the kiss, hungry for more.  Warbling softly, she tilted her hips toward him.  A little voice in the back of his head teased him with thoughts of taking her right against the wall, the excitement of public sex and the thrill that went along with the real possibility of getting caught.  He wanted her so badly right now.  And she must have felt the same because her hand just slipped inside his robes and cupped him with a firm, but gentle caress. 

“Gin,” he moaned, his breath coming faster.  “Don’t do that unless you’re gonna follow through.” 

“Here?” she asked. 

“You’re right, we shouldn’t.” 

About seven minutes later, Harry walked out of the conference room.  This time it was _his_ legs that shook.  Checking the corridor, he held the door for Ginny and they walked toward the lobby.  After seeing her safely onto the lift, he returned to his office, slumping into his leather chair.  He smiled, about to return to the reports when his mobile phone rang. 

“Yeah, Potter.” 

“Is Ms. Weasley doing better?” 

It was Mason.  “Yes, Corporal.  Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, sir.  Oh…sir?” 

“Yes?” 

“You might want to keep in mind that the detention wing is pretty closely monitored.  I happen to be the one assigned to that duty today.” 

“Oh, yes, well…thanks for the reminder.” 

“Don’t forget to zip up.” 

“Oh, shite,” he whispered, but he was sure that the voice on the other end of the phone laughed just before the call ended.  He’d owe the man big time! 

***  

Ron woke up greeted by a bright stream of sunlight whiting out the sheer curtains on his window.  Before thinking of anything else, his thoughts moved to that perfect dawn with Hermione on his broom.  Answering his male member’s call to action, he rolled over, smiling at the prospect of a _naked_ Hermione on a broom and what that might entail.  Instead, his hand landed on a rumpled set of sheets, no warm body to curl up against. 

That surprised him and he sat up, checking the rest of the room.  She wasn’t there.   Days now – she’d slept with him.  Heavenly.  Her scent, the sound of air filling her lungs, sweet, soft skin meeting his lips, the heat from her addictive body – he swore he would never take for granted the ultimate contentment of spooning up behind her.  How would he manage without her in his bed?  At some point, they’d return to their homes, miles apart.  He’d still see her, that was a certainly, both at work and in every moment he could make, but the living arrangements?  Would she consider moving in with him? 

He always considered Hermione a bit on the conservative side when it came to matters such as this.  Was he just being naïve to think that she’d move out of her flat and join him, living in sin with her parents’ disapproving glare hovering over them?  They liked him.  At least he thought they did.  As far as he knew, he’d never done anything to make them dislike him, but was he live-in-boyfriend material?  Maybe he was thinking about this all wrong.  What if she expected more?  Was this new arrangement, this relationship, their cohabitation, all a precursor to something even more life altering? 

_Merlin, I hope so._  

His own thoughts surprised him.  He wanted more.  That was a realization that he hadn’t encountered before.  No, that wasn’t the truth.  Juvenile, irrational thoughts of a fairytale nature had invaded his dreams in the past.  Probably not in the same way a girl might picture their own prince and princess story, but Ron’s forever after seemed to always include her.  So, truthfully, he’d considered a forever scenario with her before.  He chuckled.  Now, it seemed so real.  So attainable.  He’d only have to ask.  Then a vision of him on his knee, asking for her hand, brought with it the scorching burn of anxiety.  Would she say no?  “Huh.”  He swallowed hard setting the image aside for consideration at a later moment. 

One certainty, such thoughts had reduced his morning libido.  Depressed at losing the suggestion of a morning twiddle, Ron pushed himself out of bed and sluffed off to the shower.  Knowing his girl, she was probably reading the Daily Prophet, sipping tea, writing an editorial on elf-rights, solving world hunger and developing a new set of standardized tests for Hogwarts students.  Stepping into the shower, he laughed at his own meanderings.  All of those things would have sounded ridiculous and elusive just years before.  They embodied all the qualities, that in the days of his youth, he rolled his eyes at, more interested in Quidditch practice and wizard’s chess.  Now, however, he felt only undeniable pride for his darling girl.  Even with everything he had accomplished, it felt so inconsequential compared to Hermione’s potential. 

His stamina level remained low, but he was beginning to adjust to a body vacant of magical energy.  Parker said that even if his cells did regenerate, it would take time.  He’d understood that fact before going to Hermione that morning.  Parker made it clear that he might never get his magic back.  Looking back, he didn’t regret it.  True, he had on numerous occasions picked up his wand and unconsciously attempted to put out the lights or retrieve a book, only to pause mid-stroke and sorrowfully set the slender strip of wood back down.  But that sorrow only lasted as long as he could keep his thoughts off of her – and that wasn’t long.  Hearing her voice, seeing her smile, marveling at the sparkle in her brown eyes or the way she walked into a room left all sorrow far behind. 

The trial was today.  His hands fumbled trying to knot his tie and he finally left it hanging around his neck and went downstairs in search of the woman he knew that could help him.  Far too many voices filled the dining room for it to be just the usual crowd.  Striding in, he tried not to grimace at the sight of his mum and dad.  He wasn’t in the mood for another day of maternal smothering. 

“Good morning, Ronald,” his mother smiled, pouring tea into his father’s cup. 

“Morning, Mum.”  Love and obligation pushed him forward as he walked over and kissed his mum on the cheek, then turned to do the same to his dad. 

“Morning, son.” 

“Um…Hermione?” he glanced at his open shirt and picked up the ends of his dangling tie.  “Could you maybe…” 

She was up before he finished the sentence.  “Of course.” 

This worked out well.  A sort of two for one deal.  Not only did he get his tie knotted, he got a chance to touch his best girl.  Hermione wrapped her delicate fingers around the tie, adjusting his collar and occasionally stroking her hand over his chest and smoothing a button.  She smelled so good, he was sure he swayed from the impact for just a tiny second.  Dressed for court, she had her hair up in a twist, a thin line of gray sweeping over the side.  The color was returning.  He gripped her waist.  It was still rail thin, but some of the fullness was returning in her hips, her cheeks, her breasts – he tried not to stare. 

He was about to sneak a kiss when footsteps approached from the other room. 

“Mrs. Granger!” he greeted, surprised to see the woman walking out of Harry’s kitchen. 

“Hello, Ronald.  Well, it’s just lovely to see you looking so good!”  Mrs. Granger walked over and patted him on the cheek.  “Hermione told me what you did for her.”  His eyes darted to Hermione in terror.   

“She did?” 

“Yes.  Such a sacrifice.  She is a lucky, lucky girl to have friends like you and Harry that are willing to give up so much and donate the very essence of their lives for her.” 

“Thank you, ma’am,” he squeaked, his eyes bulging in horror.  She didn’t actually tell her mother what they did, did she?  It’s her mother!  Is she so close that they discuss these types of intimate details?  Ewww.  He’d rather die than tell his mother about his bedroom activities with Hermione. 

Mrs. Granger’s eyes were so sincere, it scared him.  “She told me you were exhausted afterwards.  I’m sure your parents were worried sick about you!”  Mrs. Granger joined Molly at the table and soon they were involved in idle chit chat. 

Ron bent down and whispered in Hermione’s ear.  “I can’t believe you told her all of that!” 

Hermione smiled curiously.  “It was all over the news, Ronald.  You nearly drowned.  How could I not tell her?” 

“Oh.  Oh!”  Ron started putting two and two together, realizing his mistake. 

“Come get some breakfast.  We have to leave for the Ministry in about thirty minutes.” 

Harry had already started explaining the events to come.  “…and the prosecutor has witnesses from the mental hospital as well.  We will probably get called to testify, but I don’t see how Carrow can get out of this one.” 

“You said he’ll be behind glass?” Molly asked. 

“He’ll be in a separate wing all together, nowhere near the courtroom itself.  We used some Muggle technology to set up video cameras.” 

For some strange reason, Ginny kept mentioning a bed of flowers she had planted in the back.  He’d never known her to be so fascinated with gardening, but she wanted her parents and Mrs. Granger to see them.  After clearing the breakfast dishes, they all poured out of the back door leaving Harry, Hermione and himself. 

“Hey, mate…um…can we talk for a minute?” Harry appeared nervous, stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

“About?” 

Hermione eased up from her chair and mumbled about forgetting something before walking into the next room. 

“I have some news and I want to tell you in person.” 

Harry’s tone had him worried.  His mind began to circulate ideas, some practical, some completely idiotic.  Was he moving?  Changing jobs?

“Alright, then tell,” Ron frowned, his stomach knotting up. 

“Um…I…well, you know how I’ve felt about your sister for a while now.” 

“Did you knock her up?” It was the first thing that popped into his mind. 

“No!  No, she’s not pregnant.  God, no.” 

“Good.  I love you to death Harry and I really don’t want to have to take you in a fist fight over my sister’s honor, but I will if I have to.” 

“I believe you.  Is it an honorable thing to ask her to marry me?” 

“What?”  Ron wasn’t sure if Harry just asked a question or admitted a profound truth.  “Did you?” 

“Yes.  I love her Ron.  I really do.  I need you to know that.  This isn’t some silly infatuation or immature crush.  I want to marry her and stay with her forever.” 

“Wow.”  He was too stunned to say much more.  The anger he thought would drive him just wasn’t there.  It had been replaced with love.  Brother-in-law.  Brother!  He’d actually be his brother!  He smiled, breathing heavier.  This was fantastic news!  Harry flinched as Ron advanced on him, but he didn’t let him get away, instead wrapping Harry’s head in the crook of his arm and pulling him in for a bone crushing hug.  “Wow!” 

“Let go, Ron.”  Harry sounded out of breath and Ron realized he was still squeezing.   

“Oh, sorry.” 

“So, just wow?  That’s all you have to say?  I mean, you’re not going to hit me or…” 

“No, I’m not going to hit you.  I can’t guarantee anything with my other brothers, but I’m damn proud of you, Harry!” 

“Really?” he smiled. 

“Have you told my parents?” 

“Not yet.  I wanted you to know first.” 

The back door opened, the garden observatory over.  Any more discussion on the wedding would have to wait. 

Harry, Ginny, Molly and Arthur Apparated to the courtyard of the Ministry and waited for Ron, Hermione and Mrs. Granger who were riding in Mrs. Granger’s auto.  The Ministry was full of people, a lot of buzz going around about the happenings at Trafalgar Square.  The moment Harry and Ron were spotted, the autograph seekers pounced.  The two men smiled and tried to sound cordial pushing through the crowd, but Harry did break down and sign the newest addition of ‘Hogwarts: A History’ for a little eleven year-old boy.  How could he have resisted with the boy’s cheerful ‘they have a whole chapter just on you, Mr. Potter!’ exclamation. 

Reaching the Wizengamot chamber, several seats had been reserved for them up front.  Mrs. Granger, Molly and Arthur sat in the back.  Ron looked around, surprised to see the Mayor of Budapest and his wife – who wiggled her fingers at him with a smile.  To their left, Karoly and the other body guard they had met.  A pale, weak looking man shook in his seat one row back and Ron recognized him as the victim that Carrow had stripped on his way to Budapest.  Then there was the male nurse they had interviewed and probably a handful of supervisors and lawyers that were sweating bullets about potential lawsuits against the hospital. 

Within minutes everyone was asked to stand and the judges strode in and took their seats.  Ron had been to quite a few trials, but nothing of this magnitude except perhaps when Lucius Malfoy was being questioned after the Battle of Hogwarts.  A large video screen flickered to life, first blue, then a clear headshot of Artimus Carrow materialized.  The courtroom’s inhabitants gasped, maybe from his sickly appearance, but likely even that wasn’t all that different from his usual expression.  The room fell silent at the sound of the gavel, only Carrow’s raspy breathing filling the room, and the Minister started his opening remarks. 

Ron caught Judge Randolph glancing at him on more than one occasion.  Diane was probably nearby, but he didn’t want to chance a look.  Following the opening remarks, the prosecutors began calling witnesses:  the male nurse, ashamed at a serious lack of judgment and loss of a key, a doctor from the same hospital who admitted that she had left a book with notes out in the open where Carrow could have found the now identified curse.  Then the mayor, his wife, Karoly, who with sudden clarity, positively identified Carrow as the man who had attacked Hermione.  Ron felt a jerk and caught sight of Hermione’s face, horrible memories rushing in on her.  Her hands trembled and he took them in his, trying to give her the calm she needed.  He leaned in.  “He won’t ever hurt you again.” 

She nodded just before they called her name.  He knew she was scared, but she never showed it, except perhaps when she looked at him.  They questioned her for at least an hour, but she held up, refusing to look at the man on the video screen who kept making lude gestures towards her.  Ron wanted to just beat the man to a pulp, but he opted to keep his focus on Hermione, wanting to give her all his support.  When they finally excused her, she stepped down, passing in front of the video. 

Carrow smiled.  “Oh, Hermione!  It’s nice to see you again.  I’ve missed our little talks.” 

Ron was shocked when his otherwise stoic girlfriend lost her cool.  She spun toward the screen.  “Rot in hell.”  Then she spun back and returned to her seat.  A small round of applause rattled in the back of the courtroom and the Minister both chastised Carrow and his defense attorney for the interruption. 

“What are you gonna do to me?” Carrow whined.  “I’m already dying, like I’m worried about you sending me to Azkaban.  Go ahead, send me.  I’ll make sure I infect every single inmate and guard I can.” 

“Mr. Carrow!” the Minister exclaimed, “that is quite enough.” 

“Quite,” Carrow replied and started to cough rather dramatically. 

Harry was called next and the courtroom erupted in applause.  Even the Minister who was all about decorum and process stopped to acknowledge the savior of their world.  Harry explained about how he had come to Hermione’s flat to help her leave and had been attacked by Carrow.  The events at the warehouse were next.  Finally, they asked him to explain the scene at Trafalgar Square. 

Ron followed.  He calmly recited the events he had been a part of, in the flat, the warehouse, Trafalgar Square and even some about his relationship with Diane Randolph.  As he exited the witness chair, Diane passed him on her way up.  He noticed the very last yellow glow from the bruise on her face, but otherwise, she looked normal.  Not that she’d ever feel completely normal again.  Despite his offer to talk, she hadn’t come to see him.  In a way he was relieved and yet, he still suffered the guilt of her injuries and the emotional stress it had put her under. 

Carrow seemed to perk up on the screen as he saw her take the chair, throwing in a “hi, sweetie” as she passed.  Ron had a pretty good idea of what was going to happen next.  His eyes flashed to Diane even though he could tell that Hermione was watching both of them.  He truly didn’t want to see her suffer on the stand, but knew there was little he could do than provide moral support. 

Diane kept her eyes down most of the time.  Once the bubbly, vivacious girl who had annoyed him to death, she now wallowed in a sobriety born of abuse and degradation. 

Despite numerous warnings, Carrow kept injecting comments after each of Diane’s responses.  “That a girl”, “you’re looking lovely today”, “yummy, isn’t she?” and then as if trying to hammer the final nail into her psychological coffin, he exclaimed “what a sweet, sweet pussy” as she returned to her seat. 

Luckily, the Minister had the foresight to break for lunch at that time.  Diane looked extremely pale as he watched her in the lobby, a woman who must have been her mother, coddling her with soothing words.  After grabbing a bite to eat, they were waiting in the lobby, Hermione offering her fortieth thank you to Hugh Godfrey and company, when Diane walked up to him. 

“Hello, Ronald.” 

“Hi, Diane.  You look much better.  How are you doing?” 

“Getting there.  It doesn’t help having to look at him.” 

“Yeah.  He was way out of line.  You shouldn’t have to listen to that filth.” 

“It will be worth it when they sentence him.”  Her eyes avoided him. 

“I guess.  Well, it’s good seeing you again.  The offer still stands if you need to talk.” 

“I’m seeing a therapist.  Mummy insisted.  He’s the same one treating John.” 

“You didn’t go to see him, did you?” 

“Yes.  We got him some help.” 

Ron wanted to warn her again, but they were all being called back into the courtroom.  It was the defense’s turn.  Ron didn’t envy the team of lawyers saddled with trying to exonerate the pile of human excrement that did little to enhance his defense.  Many of them were called up again, similar questions with a twist, trying to find holes in anyone’s story.  But all remained solid.  There were no lies to tell, hence no holes to find.  In fact, a few of the defense’s witnesses backfired on them.  Ron’s cross was relatively short. 

Then Hermione returned to the stand.  As if she hadn’t suffered enough, they grilled her relentlessly for hours, insinuating that her loss of magic had been a lie.  After all, she was fine.  When she explained that she had been cured, the attorney jumped on her with “but I thought there was no cure for this virus.  Are you a medical miracle, Ms. Granger?” 

Luckily, the prosecutor objected, noting that the method used to cure Hermione was not pertinent.  

Hermione’s eyes flashed to Ron and he held them.  It was impossible not to share her concern.  She must have looked a bit too desperate and they took advantage of that as well.  “Ms. Granger, who do you keep staring at?  Is that Mr. Weasley?  Has he been coaching you in what to say?  You are under oath, Ms. Granger.  If you lie, we can lock you up.” 

“Objection!” shouted the prosecution again. 

The courtroom buzzed again, like a swarm of Cicada’s vibrating in a tropical tree.  The Minister sorted it out, but then the attorney continued, unrelentless, claiming that Hermione had attacked Carrow for no reason, biting him and infecting him with some strange disease.  Ginny looked ready to pop a vein and Ron saw Harry restrain her from some unintentional outburst.   

“Ms. Granger, how long have you suffered from a mental illness?” 

“Wh-what?” Hermione replied, the question obviously taking her by surprise. 

“Well, I have statements from four Aurors that you…” he looked down at the document and read from it, “…growled, clawed at people and bit Mr. Carrow in an animalistic rage.”  Hermione’s eyes flashed to Ron, her breathing increased as her brow furrowed.  Ron knew the Aurors were obliged to give truthful statements and, truthfully, Hermione had acted out of character.  But, that didn’t prevent him from searching out each one of his subordinates in the courtroom and sharing a glare of displeasure at their actions.  He immediately noticed that Godfrey and Kreighton were looking at each other in disbelief. 

“Does that sound like the behavior of a sane person?” the attorney continued.  “Are you on medication?”  At that Hermione blanched white, appearing totally appalled at this line of questioning to the point that she might hyperventilate from the labored breathing.  “Have you seen a mind healer?  Ms. Granger, are you a threat to yourself or others?”   

“Objection!” cried the prosecutor just as Hermione clutched at her stomach and darted out of the witness chair.  “Excuse me,” she mumbled, stumbling toward the exit, one hand across her mid-section, one over her mouth. 

“Guard, stop that witness!” Carrow’s attorney yelled, but Ron was up and positioned between the Wizengamot Guard and Hermione before he even finished the sentence. 

“What’s wrong with you people?  She’s the victim in this whole mess!” Ron yelled in the direction of the lawyer and jogged out the door after her.  He could hear others trying to follow and the court guard stepping in the way. 

Clearing the doorway, he found Hermione heaving over a nearby trash bin.  It seemed she hadn’t made it to the nearest loo.  He ran to her side, not sure what to do as she jerked again from the unwelcome contractions in her stomach.   

“’Mione…” 

As luck would have it, the horde of photographers heard the retching noises and were all rounding the corner filled with glee over the prospect of another great news story.  Ultimately, that joy was interrupted by a towering redhead fuel by anger and a protective streak that saw no equal.  Just as one camera rose to the photographer’s eye, Ron ripped it out of the man’s hand.  He’d be damned if they were going to publish a photo of Hermione puking into a trash bin.  He might not be able to wield a wand, but he could still protect her this time. 

“You take one picture of her and you will have to deal with me,” Ron threatened.  “Do you understand?” 

The Wizengamot Guard cleared the doors, ordering the publicity hounds back.  Mrs. Granger and Mrs. Weasley burst through the doors a second later suddenly caught in the mass of reporters trying to clear the hall.  Ron handed the camera off to the guard and turned his attention back to Hermione who was slowly sinking down the wall.  He ran to her side, catching her arm before she hit the floor.  “Let’s go sit down over here.”  Pulling her back up, he helped her over to a nearby bench in the corridor just as the two women reached her. 

“Hermione, darling, are you alright?” Mrs. Granger asked, kneeling in front of her. 

“I…I’m sorry.  I just…I…” Hermione sputtered, unable to say much as she sat folded over. 

Molly ran into the nearby restroom and returned with a transformed cup of water in her hand.  Mrs. Granger stroked her daughter’s back and assured her she’d be alright.  Ron kept one wary eye toward the barely hidden paparazzi and one on the courtroom doors, sure that someone would appear any moment wanting an update. 

When he looked back, Hermione was sipping water having been coaxed back up by the other two women.  She kept blowing out air, her breathing still coming faster than normal.  The WG returned, but stood an appropriate distance away, joined by Hermione’s on-again, off-again bodyguard, Hugh Godfrey.  As usual, his concern had drawn him out to the corridor. 

“Is she going to be able to continue?” the guard asked. 

Hermione nodded, still sipping and blowing out puffs of air.  “Just give me a couple of minutes.” 

The guard nodded to Hugh and walked back into the courtroom, probably on his way to report to the judges.  Hugh walked toward Hermione and the others, his eyes making contact with Ron in some form of unspoken collaboration.  He seemed sincerely bothered by the fact that Hermione looked so ill. 

“Ms. Granger?” Hugh called out, “um…Hermione?”  Again Hugh shot Ron a glance before kneeling down in front of her.  “I wanted you to know that I didn’t say any of those things about you.  Those things the attorney mentioned.  It wasn’t me or Kreighton or Williams.  We would never…” 

“I know,” Hermione replied.  “I know you wouldn’t and I appreciate it.” 

“Then who said them?” asked Ron. 

“I’m not sure, Sir.”  Godfrey seemed to swallow down anything else he was about to say and stood back up.  Looking as if he didn’t know how to continue, he just tipped his head to Ron and turned back, shuffling down the hall and disappearing behind the double doors. 

Suddenly, Hermione pulled her shoulders back, took one final breath and stood up.  “Let’s get this over with.” 

Ron kept one hand on her elbow until they reached the front of the courtroom.  Hermione whispered “thanks” and returned to her seat.  Mrs. Granger and Molly slipped back into their own seats as well and within thirty seconds, the attorney was back at it. 

The disruption didn’t seem to have any effect on his line of questioning and he jumped right back in.  Hermione’s sanity was called into question on numerous occasions with continued threats of calling various Auror’s to the stand who could corroborate the story of her bizarre behaviors.  Ron wondered if anyone else noticed the subtle gesture as she moved her fingertips over her stomach.  Beyond the heaving, she’d probably be tied in such knots later that it would take him days, nee weeks to relax her again.  It seemed so needless and completely unfair to put this woman through such torture for the likes of the dragon dung sitting in the other room.  Ron twitched in his seat, desperately wanting to march up and pull her out of that witness chair. 

A sympathetic hand shrouded in fury had gripped his heart and was squeezing every time she bit her lip, frowned or winced at the attorney’s words.  Unbelievably, Carrow decided to lie down, as if unconcerned with the proceedings.  More likely, his illness had zapped all his energy.  Either way, no objection stopped them and they were at least afforded a couple hours of peace from his relentless depravity. 

The moment Hermione returned to her seat, Ron wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.  She sunk against him, all the fight gushing out of her to be replaced by a trembling, frail, beautiful girl.  Would it be possible to never leave her side again?  The urge to protect her, to keep her from ever experiencing anything like this again – it overwhelmed him.  He accepted the job with enthusiasm, kissing her head and whispering “I love you so much, Hermione.” 

Unbelievably, the defense decided to call John Rasmussen to the witness chair.  It was a pretty good bet that John would lie through his teeth for Carrow.  Ron pulled Hermione closer, trying to shield her from every sound, every movement of air that might even come as the result of John’s walk through the room.  They’d been away from him long enough now that Ron’s hatred for the man had mellowed to intensive loathing.  Diane’s words returned to his memory.  John had helped her.  Twice.  That statement alone probably provided the only shred of evidence to his humanity.  Ron wanted to hate him as much, if not more than Carrow.  It was John, not Carrow, that imprisoned Hermione, sampled her blood, bruised her, verbally abused her and – he couldn’t bear thinking it – touched her on rare occasions.  And yet, in the grand scheme of things, Carrow sat at the top of the evil scale while John sunk a few notches below. 

Dressed in a suit, John was escorted into the courtroom and took the witness chair.  His eyes first flashed to Hermione and Ron tried to move himself to block the view, but Hermione tensed and he knew she’d seen it.  Ron tried reading the expression, if only because he wanted to know how to deal with Hermione’s reaction.  Curiously, John appeared quite different from what he expected.  The stiff arrogance had been replaced with humble, sloping shoulders.  His eyes appeared soft, apologetic as he looked at Hermione and then – no, he couldn’t believe it – John mouthed ‘I’m sorry’ in her direction.  Ron glanced at Hermione and back at John.  How dare he?  He was sorry?  What a joke.  It rattled him for a moment, but then he heard the subtle sniff beside him and tipped his head to see Hermione’s lashes dotted with moisture.  

“Are you alright?  Do you want to leave?” 

She shook her head and released a deep breath, nudging her head against his shoulder. 

The defense attorney looked smug, straightening his suit as he walked up to the witness chair.  It was obvious he had a plan and thought it was foolproof.  Ron listened as he began his list of questions:  how they met, their childhood, their abusive parents, Arty’s mentally unstable mother, their friendship and Arty’s mentoring.  John made him out to look like the pope in training, all good and honest and horribly wronged in his youth.  Boo hoo hoo.  Ron wanted to slap the jurors back to reality, but he suspected they weren’t taken in by it all. 

Still, he didn’t want them to even provide a molecule of proof for any redeeming qualities in this pond scum.  John’s answers were quite matter of fact, bland, not emotional, but believable.  That was scary.  John really did believe that the man cared about him. 

_Oh, please.  Don’t fall for that!_  

“So, Mr. Rasmussen, after having spent so much time with Mr. Carrow over the course of your life, after sharing your childhood and your blood, after his years of friendship and encouragement and sharing the bond of two men abused, how would you describe Mr. Carrow?” 

This was supposed to be the character witness part. 

The defense attorney looked ready to burst with optimism.

“He’s a worthless maggot chewing on the dead carcass of victims and he deserves to rot painfully in prison for the rest of his life.” 

Ron thought the defense attorney might have suffered a stroke.  The courtroom went dead silent, even the judges seemed paralyzed.  A single, girly chuckle tripped over the abysmal quiet.  Ron knew that chuckle and he turned to look at Diane.  She smiled.  At him!  What the hell was she smiling about?  Then it struck him. 

_Oh, my god, that’s funny!_  

Ron cleared his throat to stifle the laugh.  Harry rolled his lips into his mouth to hold back his own guffaw.  This was just too sweet.  John had turned on him.  The fly who loved the shite had flown away in search of a flower!  He was still just a fly, extremely swattable, and yet…it was unbelievable. 

The defense attorney sat stunned, unable to continue.  The prosecutor saw his chance and went in for the kill, immediately building upon the shock and awe with a tally of Carrow’s crimes, even discrediting some of John’s more pleasant sounding memories.  Voices mumbled throughout the room, heads ducked in whisper. 

Carrow suddenly sat up, rejuvenated from his nap and saw John.  “Cuz!” 

John took one look at him and left the witness stand, escorted back to his Muggle prison cell by the awaiting guards.  Carrow looked confused. 

“What the fuck happened?” 

The Minister asked for closing arguments, but the defense attorney deflated like a four day-old balloon.  Nothing could or would be said to try and salvage a defense for the indefensible.  By five o’clock the Minister called for a verdict and it came swiftly.  Carrow was found guilty before he could even finish scratching his balls on the monitor. 

Without warning, Ginny stood up.  “Minister, I would like to say something before you pronounce sentence.”

"You are Ms. Weasley I believe?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Is there any objection?” the Minister asked, but all was quiet, even the stunned looking defense attorney. 

Harry shrugged as Ginny left his side.  She stood directly in front of the video monitor, obviously wanting Carrow to see her clearly. 

“Minister, members of the Wizengamot, my name is Ginevra Weasley.  I am with the Ministry Health Department and a Healer at St. Mungo’s in the Infectious Spells Research Department.  Mr. Carrow is currently infected with the virus that has been sweeping through Europe.  I have spoken to Mr. Carrow and informed him that he would most likely die from this virus due to his frail health.  I also informed him that there is an experimental treatment that may save his life.  He seemed indifferent on the subject.  In the name of justice, I think that prolonging his life, in any capacity, and hence the ability for a lifelong sentence in prison, would provide much more closure for those innocent victims than his ability to escape punishment with an early death.  We have the ability to strip him of his magic and hence take away the virus’s ability to thrive.  Mr. Carrow will be reduced to a squib or less where he will no longer be a magical danger to our community.  I would ask the Wizengamot to consider this as part of his punishment.” 

Ginny turned directly at the video screen and stared at Carrow.  Ron wasn’t sure what she was doing, but noticed Harry smile.  He’d have to ask later. 

Carrow’s reply?  “You can always come visit me in prison for a little hokey pokey.” 

Ginny did a sharp pivot and returned to her seat.  Harry kissed her on the cheek. 

The Minister turned to speak with the others nearest to him, spinning back in his chair.  “Mr. Carrow, before we pronounce sentence, would you like to say anything in your defense?” 

Everyone watched the monitor.  Ron wasn’t sure, but he thought a glint of terror flashed in Carrow’s eyes.  If he was smart, which he wasn’t, he’d beg for mercy and apologize for all his crimes.  But Satan never prayed for forgiveness, he basked in the fire that consumed him, only pulling more down along the way.  And so that was Carrow’s manifesto. 

Sucking in a raspy breath he spat a large wad of flem onto the video lens.  “You can’t take my magic.  You can try, but I’m too smart for you.  You won’t be able to keep me prisoner.  I’ll get out.  Soon.  And when I do, I’ll finish what I started.” 

“Very well, Mr. Carrow.  It is the judgement of this court that you are to be stripped of your magic and sentenced to life in a Muggle prison for the remainder of your life.  You will be eligible for parole in one hundred twelve years.  So, please do look me up when you get released.”  He swung the gavel down and a united breath escaped all the bodies in the room.  The prosecutor took great delight and flipping off the video monitor and promptly walked over and shook Harry’s hand. 

“Let’s go home,” said Hermione.


	28. Chapter 27 - And Justice For All

  
Author's notes: Sorry to be a little late getting this out.  I'm sure some of you have been anxiously anticipating the next chapter.  As always, my thanks to Indie for being my second brain.  Also, thanks to everyone who has been asking if I have something else in the works.  It's really neat to know that you all like my writing enough to request more.  I do have a few stories that I haven't finished.  I might go back and look them over and see what I can do to get them up, but it may be a little while before they're done.  So, for now, enjoy the rest of Renaissance.  We still have this chapter, plus 28 and an epilogue.  


* * *

Chapter 27 – And Justice For All 

Hermione sat in her office.  It had been a busy morning.  After being out for so long she had a lot to catch up on and even more to learn, all while handling a lot of high profile news.  It had been three days since the incident at Trafalgar Square, an event that headlined the news every day with panic-filled editorials about how their entire world had been revealed to hundreds of Muggles and investigations into Carrow and his entire family.  And, as if the famous trio hadn’t been in the news enough already, Harry’s spectacular spell work and Ron’s return from the dead had reignited the hero worship to the nth degree. It would have been overwhelming for even the most seasoned press secretary, but for Hermione, it was just a challenge.  Truthfully, she procrastinated her return to work for the sole reason that she wanted to stay and look after Ron. 

After being released from St. Mungo’s, he continued to improve and not just from his near drowning.  With nothing to latch onto, it seemed the virus was in a loosing battle with Ron’s own antibodies.  His appetite returned, his fever continued, but much lower and the cough was now the result of an irritated throat, not the chesty pneumonic hack that had scared them just days before.  He continued to struggle with a general case of malaise which could certainly be attributed to his loss of magic, but he was sleeping less and spending more time amongst the living every day.  Hermione began to look forward to dinner time, watching him scarf down his food with the same vigor she had witnessed in years past. 

But still no magic.   

Flipping through some paperwork, she found the will she had written just ten days earlier and debated even filing it with an attorney.  Ridiculous as it seemed, the negative thoughts that had driven her to write the document left her with feelings of shame.  Looking back, that moment had truly been her lowest point.  She didn’t want to dwell on it and yet, having those memories, experiencing such loss of hope made her current outlook all that brighter.  Her worries now settled on Ron and how this would impact him.  She prepared herself for several possible outcomes and watched him daily for signs of the same depression that had gnawed at her as she had contemplated life without her special skills.  Surprisingly, he had demonstrated a mental attitude far from depressed over the past couple of days. 

She smiled, tucking the will back in the envelope and recalling the events from the previous evening.  Ron had never acted this way before.   Several times, Hermione wasn’t sure if she were still touching the ground.  Maybe the sex had provided the motivation, but she was experiencing the true meaning of being swept off her feet. 

Ignoring anyone else in the room, Ron’s hands were constantly on her - but not groping with the immaturity of a teen.  This was the slow, erotic caress of a lover: little tickles under the edge of her shirt, his fingertips stroking her palm, circles of pleasure drawn on her back and lots of tender, small, sweet kisses.  She’d step in the kitchen, he’d follow and wrap his arms around her waist from behind.  She’d sit and he’d discover a way to be near her.  And his smile.  It just melted away every molecule of loneliness that had ever resided within her. 

Dressed in his navy, terry-cloth robe, flannel pajama pants and socks, he looked like an advertisement for flu potion or a handkerchief manufacturer.  He brought out her mothering instincts, something she had never truly experienced before.  Checking his temperature, fixing him soup, these were all inherent maternal traits.  After Molly’s recent visit, Hermione worried that she might be smothering him with the kind of attention he’d rather do without.  But he didn’t seem to mind.  He just smiled and snuck in kisses whenever the opportunity presented itself.   

Harry’s home had become a haven for health, family, friendships and love.  She knew they’d need to get back to their flats and jobs soon and give Harry his peace and quiet.  But, it was so wonderful waking up beside Ron, sharing a bed, she dreaded a return to their normal lives, not that any day in her future would ever be defined as normal again.  Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. 

“Come in.” 

A pair of bright green eyes peered around the door. 

“Hey!” she greeted as the door swung open to reveal not only Harry but Ginny right behind him. 

“How’s it going?” he asked.  “We’re going to grab some lunch and thought you might like to join us.” 

“Sure!  I’d love to.”  Hermione straightened her stack of papers and they all started walking toward the Ministry canteen.  “I’m sorry I fell asleep last night before you got back.  How was your dinner date?” 

“Good!” Harry exclaimed.  “Great food and even better company.” 

Hermione glanced over and noticed how the two of them were battling a severe case of the grins.  It was infectious and Hermione felt her own cheeks swell. 

“The restaurant was lovely.  Harry bought me roses and we sipped champagne,” Ginny explained. 

“Hmm, sounds really nice.  I think I could use an evening like that.”  The lift opened and they stepped on, surprised to find it empty at this time of day. 

“Well?” Ginny nudged Harry in the side.  “Are you going to tell her or am I?” 

Hermione couldn’t help but smile watching the two of them in some silent conversation. 

“Go ahead,” he urged, still grinning as if his cheeks were about to explode. 

With unparalleled excitement, Ginny thrust her hand forward, intentionally wiggling her finger.  Hermione gasped at the brilliant diamond that twinkled back at her.  “Harry asked me to marry him!” 

“Oh!”  Hermione grabbed her hand as if needing to confirm that what she saw was real. 

The lift doors opened, but Hermione could have cared less who might be watching.  She pulled Ginny toward her and the two of them hugged and bounced up and down, both squealing in delight.  They even ignored the sound of someone clearing their throat until Harry tugged on both of them. 

Amidst the group of people waiting for the lift, Judge Randolph stood in the center, clearing his throat a bit louder.  Harry’s expression shifted to all business, but Hermione could have cared less.  The judge’s insults were still fresh in her memory and if he even thought of getting testy with her, she was going to give him a piece of her mind.  Still reeling from the news, Hermione’s voice rang with pleasantness.  “Good afternoon, Judge Randolph.  Did you hear the news?”  She glanced at Harry as if asking permission to tell. 

“News?” he grumbled, stepping aside as the rest of the lobby’s party exchanged places with them on the lift. 

Harry had that resigned ‘oh, go ahead’ expression and Hermione nearly giggled.  “Harry and Ginny are engaged!  Isn’t that just wonderful?” 

“Oh…um…yes, congratulations, Potter.”  Randolph thrust out his hand and Harry took it. 

“Thank you, sir.  How is Diane doing?” 

“She’s still in quarantine, but so far she hasn’t shown any symptoms.  We’re hopeful she’ll be allowed to come home in a day or two.” 

“That’s great news, your Honor,” said Hermione. 

“Um…” he coughed and rolled his lips, something on his mind.  “How is Auror Weasley?  Diane has been asking about him.” 

“He’s improving,” Hermione’s happy demeanor shifted at his mention of Diane’s query. 

“Will he be well enough to testify at the trial?” 

“Has a trial date been set?” Harry asked. 

“Day after tomorrow.” 

“That’s awfully soon,” Hermione commented. 

Ginny spoke up.  “I think the concern is that Carrow won’t be around to stand trial if we don’t have it soon.  He’s in horrible shape.  The healer in the jail’s infirmary contacted me.” 

“You can’t let Carrow in a courtroom full of people,” Hermione argued. 

“Oh, no…of course, not,” Randolph rumbled.  “Some of the Aurors are setting up a special room with Muggle equipment…what do you call it, Potter?” 

“Video cameras and monitors, sir.” 

“Yes, all of that so that we can watch him and he can watch us.” 

“Wow, Muggle equipment in a Wizengamot courtroom.  That’s a first,” added Hermione. 

“Yes, well, my daughter tells me we need to move with the times.”  He attempted what looked like a smile. 

“Well, I’m sure that Ron will be there, so will I.” 

“Yes, well, you’ll all probably be receiving a request for appearance this afternoon.” 

“I’m not a bit surprised,” offered Harry. 

“Yes, well, thank you for your time.”  Randolph nodded his head once and stepped onto the next lift that had just opened before them. 

Harry, Ginny and Hermione continued toward the canteen.  With sandwiches and drinks in hand, they found a table a bit away from the crowds.  Hermione was curious about Ginny’s previous statement and decided to just ask. 

“So, is Carrow really that bad off?” 

“Yeah,” said Ginny.  “Personally, I’d like him to just suffer on his way to an early grave, but damn if I didn’t take a healer’s oath.” 

“How close are you on a cure?” Hermione asked, sipping her drink. 

“Close, but not close enough.  Parker is doing a great job helping us.  It sort of tied together with his other research and after I showed him what we’d been developing, he got curious and asked if he could help.  We know that the virus won’t live without the magical cells, but we just can’t figure out a way to get around that.” 

“So, then what are you going to do about Carrow?” 

“I’m going to tell him the truth,” she took a bite of her sandwich, but Hermione noticed a distinct satisfaction in her tone and glanced at Harry to see if he noticed it, too.  Both of them shot Ginny a look, waiting patiently for her to complete her thought.  She swallowed and put on a bright face.  “I’m going to tell him that the only way to cure him is to use his own stripping spell and take his magic.” 

“Oh, that’s too sweet,” Harry muttered.  “I almost feel sorry for the bloke…” Hermione and Ginny snapped disgusted looks at him “…I said almost.” 

Finishing lunch, Hermione waited as Harry kissed Ginny goodbye, their embrace lingering just long enough for her to notice the new facet to their relationship.  Her cheeks felt tight.  

_They’re going to be husband and wife._  

It warmed her just thinking of it.  She loved them both, but felt the moisture build in her eyes picturing the unwanted green-eyed boy sitting in a closet, suffering with thoughts of why no one loved him.  Somewhere, some cosmic gear had finally clicked and all seemed right and just in the universe. 

Ginny nearly skipped off, turning to wave her decorated finger one last time at them. 

“I’m so happy for you, Harry.”  She gave her own hug and they started back toward the lifts.   

“Thanks.” 

“Have you told Ron?” 

“Not yet.  He was asleep and I didn’t want to wake him.” 

“What about the Weasleys?  Do they know?” 

“I wanted to tell Ron first, make sure he didn’t try to pummel me or anything.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes and playfully bumped Harry as they strode down the corridor.  “Well, we can tell him, or rather _you_ can tell him tonight and then we can have a big noisy celebration!” 

“Sounds good,” he chuckled.  “You know, I kind of like having you all in the house.  It feels much more lived in.  With just me there, it’s far too quiet.” 

“Well, now you’ll have Ginny there with you and I’m sure it won’t be long before the pitter patter of little feet will fill the halls.” 

“Rushing things, aren’t you?” 

“No rush.  I’m just looking forward to being Auntie Hermione.”  The lift doors opened and they stepped on, halting their conversation for the brief lift ride.  When they got off and stepped into the lobby, she pulled him to the side.  “Seriously though, Harry, I do realize that Ron and I have been your house guests for a long time now.  You’ve basically put everything aside to care for us.  We’ve been eating your food and lounging around your kitchen and, well…I think it’s best if I get back to my own place.” 

“You’re welcome to stay.  Really.” 

“Thanks.  I appreciate that, but I really want to be in my own flat.” 

“Whatever you want to do, it’s fine with me.  Just know that you’re always welcome.” 

“You could help with one thing.” 

“Anything.” 

“I hate to even ask this, but as I’ve been basically unemployed for the past three weeks, I’m seriously low on funds.  I’m going to see if there’s any way to get out of my lease on that flat.  Too many disturbing memories.  I was just wondering…” 

“You need some gold?  It’s not a problem, Hermione.  What do you need?” 

“I’m not sure yet, but I promise I’ll repay you with interest.” 

“Nonsense.  You’re my sister, it’s a gift.  You just figure out what you want to do and let me know.” 

She kissed his cheek.  “Thank you.” 

***  

Having been cleared through the two previous security doors, Ginny marched up to the desk in the outer lobby of the incarceration wing.  A burgundy robed man looked up. 

“May I help you?” 

“Healer Robinson in your infirmary asked me to come by.” 

“You’re Ms. Weasley?” 

“Yes.” 

“May I see some identification?” Ginny pulled out her St. Mungo’s ID card and presented her wand for inspection.  The guard glanced at the card and wand, and then her before handing it back.  “Come with me.” 

Within a few minutes, Ginny sat behind the same window that Ron had used to spy on Hermione and John just days before.  This time it had been charmed to transfer sound.  Parties on either side could speak and hear through the glass.  A chair sat directly in front of the glass window.  There was no other furniture.  Personally, she didn’t want to be this near to the man, even with a security wall between them, but there wasn’t time to argue that point.  The red security door on the far end of the interrogation room opened and another guard in similar robes escorted a pitiful looking creature into the room. 

Carrow dragged his sock-covered feet to the wooden chair and slumped down.  His already gangly shape had turned to hauntingly grotesque, his black hair and dark irises enhanced by even darker circles under his eyes, hollowed cheekbones and a raspy sound when he breathed.  The way his wrists bent toward each other, she knew that he was bound magically. 

“What do you want?” he asked, his eyes piercing at her through the glass.  Then recognition seemed to spark.  “Julie, darling!  You came to visit.  How sweet.” 

Ginny nearly shivered just being this close to the man.  To calm her own nerves, she turned to ensure that the guard was still nearby.  She hated showing any weakness in front of the inmate, but personal safety urged her to check. 

“Mr. Carrow, I’m a healer at St. Mungo’s and am specifically researching a cure for the virus that you seem to have contracted.” 

“Looks like you’re doing a smashing job,” he wheezed. 

Ginny recognized the sarcasm, but tried to stay focused on her job.  “I wanted to make sure you were aware of the seriousness of this virus.  Over twelve people have now died from it.  We do have some potions available that can help with the symptoms, but there is no definite cure.  With your other health conditions, it is possible, quite likely in fact that this virus could be fatal for you.” 

Carrow turned and coughed, intentionally directing his germs toward the guard in the room.  His eyes turned up slowly toward the man.  Ginny recognized how he was hoping to get a reaction, but she already had taken steps to assure that the guards posted on Carrow were all half-blood or less and hence, immune from the worst of it.  Frowning when he got no reaction, Carrow turned his attention back to Ginny. 

“So, you came here to tell me I’m gonna die?  How fucking considerate of you.” 

Ginny swallowed and frowned at his tone. 

_Just give him the news._  

“I’ve come here to tell you that there is a way for us to save your life.  It’s experimental, but has worked in one test case.” 

She finally noticed Carrow make eye contact, maybe just a glint of hope flashing in his eye.  “Are you going to tell me or just sit and stare at me all day like a dumb bitch?” 

Now she just wanted to slug him.  It felt good to be angry.  Hopefully the anger would overtake her nerves and stop the trembling in her legs.  Closing her eyes, she reached down, gripped the anger and tried to push it out as she delivered the information. 

“I know you are familiar with the Extirpare spell.” 

“Never…” he coughed and hacked something disgusting into his hand “…heard of it.”He slapped his sputum covered palm onto the glass and slid it down, leaving a trail of yellow slime. 

Ginny swallowed and tried to ignore the gross contamination before her, but it wasn’t helping calm the tremble at all.  “Extirpare is used to strip the witch or wizard of their magic.” 

“Sounds like fun.  Can I try it on you?” he curled his lip up, a foul looking set of yellow, misshapen teeth just adding to his already putrid appearance.   

“We can use this spell on you.  With your magic gone, the virus will have nothing to attach to and it will fade quickly.  You will live, but as a Squib.” 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!  You think I’m stupid enough to fall for that?  You want to castrate me, don’t you?  You’re just itching for a way to take my magic and you figure you can con me into this with some promise it will cure the common cold.” 

“It’s the only known cure at the moment.  This is meant to save your worthless, disgusting life.  So, you can take it or leave it.  I really don’t care.  Die now or die later.” 

“Ooo, she’s got spunk!” he turned and exclaimed to the guard behind him who she knew was trying to keep an even expression.  She recognized, however, that the guard was just as disgusted as she was.  “And…” his eyes passed over her hand “…look at the rock.  So, Julie, or should I just call you Potter’s little slut now, huh?”  He whispered, leaning toward the glass.  “Oh, yes, I know who you really are.”  Ginny bit down on her tongue.  It was taking all her effort to remain in control.  “Well, I hope Potter’s had his name tattooed to your pussy so you can’t run off whoring around on him.  Oh, yeah, I know you want me.”  He stuck his tongue out and wiggled it around. 

The guard’s eyes flashed to her, a moment of united fury. 

_That’s it. No more Miss Congeniality._  

She stood up.  “You’re going to have a whole new appreciation for the term whoring once they toss you in a nice, cozy prison cell.  You know, if I wanted to castrate you, I’d walk in right now, grab your tiny, worthless, shriveled sack of balls, s-l-o-w-l-y slice them off and smile as you painfully bled to death.  And the guard behind you would happily assist me.  So, don’t for a minute think that I’m offering this as revenge.  My revenge would be so much sweeter.  Instead, I’m going to let you keep your little bag of marbles so that the other inmates will have something to play with when you arrive!” 

She turned, her whole body shaking with fear and fury.  “Let me out of here,” she ordered walking to the door. 

Carrow kept talking.  “Aw, girly, don’t be mad.  Why don’t you come on in here and we’ll discuss it.” 

The guard released the door and it swung open.  Ginny couldn’t put one foot in the front of the other fast enough and Carrow called out after her.  “My balls will be anxiously awaiting your touch!” 

The door locked behind her and Ginny stopped and bent over, trying to catch her breath, her heartbeat rushing out of control.  Just being near the man was creepy enough without listening to his sick and twisted thoughts. 

“Ms. Weasley?” 

She couldn’t quite bring herself back to upright, but attempted to nod. 

“Are you alright?  Why don’t you sit down for a minute?” 

Across the tiled floor, she could make out a chair leg a few feet away and a gentle hand landed on her back and steered her toward it.   

“I’m fine.”  Maybe she was trying to convince herself and not the guard.  Either way, within a minute or so she sat back upright. 

“Can I get you some water or…” 

“No.  Thank you.  Could you please tell Healer Robinson in your infirmary that I did as he asked and the prisoner has refused?” 

“Yes, ma’am.  Do you need assistance getting home?” 

Ginny stood up, testing her legs to see the wobbles were gone enough for her to walk out on her own.  It was embarrassing to feel this frightened over a worthless creature like that who sat on the other side of a wall and with two burly armed guards standing within arms length.  But even with all the security, she couldn’t help feeling that the evil oozed from him, seeping through doors and floorboards, penetrating everything around her. 

With a deep breath, she gathered herself and left the detention center.  Winding down the hallway, she just wanted to be alone, to sit in private, maybe ball her eyes out just to get it out of her system.  But she had stood up to the man and had her say, in fact, she was pretty proud of herself.  She hadn’t jumbled up all her words and sounded like an idiot.  Grabbing onto that, she tried to focus on how well she had zinged him back and not on the absolute terror that was escalading her heartbeat. 

An open door on the left provided an escape and she slipped in to what must have been a conference room.  Finally alone and away from him, she slid down the wall and cried. 

***  

Harry sat at his desk, reviewing reports of the incident in Trafalgar Square.  He had to make sure all his I’s were dotted and t’s were crossed.  The prosecutors needed this information very soon.  His mobile phone rang and he flipped it open. 

“Potter.” 

“Sir, this is Corporal Mason in the detention wing.” 

“Yes, Corporal.  What can I do for you?” 

“I just wanted you to know that Ms. Weasley had a rather unpleasant experience with the Carrow prisoner.  He said some pretty disgusting things.  She wasn’t harmed, but she’s actually crying in the conference room on the detention wing.  I just thought you might want to know.” 

“Thank you, Mason.”  Harry snapped the phone shut and walked briskly out of his office, down the hall, past Whitcomb and into the corridor that started the detention wing.  A crying Ginny wasn’t a pleasant thought.  He didn’t deal well with crying.  It never had served a purpose when he was a boy and so he’d done away with it.  Now, seeing tears in the eyes of someone he loved was like hundreds of repressed childhood memories slamming into him.  Loving her like he did, his heart seemed to cushion the blow.  Slowing as he approached the conference room, he stopped to listen.  No sound.  Pushing the door open gently, he stuck his head in.  There on the floor sat Ginny, sniffing and wiping her face. 

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?”  He stepped into the room, quietly latching the door behind him. 

“Wh-”  sniff  “what are you doing here?”  She wiped at her eyes.  Harry could tell instantly that she was embarrassed for him to see her like this. 

“I work here,” he replied, not wishing to suffer Ginny’s temper on poor Mason.  “Why are you crying?”  He sat down on the floor beside her and placed a hand on her arm. 

“It’s nothing.”  She let out a deep breath.  “Silly really.  I’m fine.” 

“Then why are you shaking like this?” he asked, stroking his hand over her arm soothingly. 

“Stupid isn’t it?  There’s no reason for me to feel like this.  I had guards all around me.” 

“What did Carrow do?” he asked, scooting a little closer, almost afraid to hear.  Already he was working himself up, ready to slice the man’s tongue out of his head. 

“He’s a disgusting, evil, foul creature.  I think I’d rather face Voldemort himself than sit in a room with that…that…thing!” 

“I’m sorry you had to do that.” 

“It’s my job.” 

“Yes, but I’m still sorry he upset you.”  She puffed out another breath and tried to get up, but kept trembling.  Harry was sure she didn’t want comforting.  If he knew her, as he suspected he did, she could use a good dose of comedy or something positive to deal with.  Ginny had never been the type to wallow in sorrow or cry on his shoulder.  She just had to get it out of her system and then turn her attentions to something else.  Besides, with the murderous thoughts forming in his own head, he could certainly use the same distraction.  He just had to find an appropriate subject.  “So, have you thought about a wedding date yet?” 

Her puffy eyes snapped up to his and he almost felt her brain shift to the new topic.  “Um…sometime warm.  I want to be able to celebrate our anniversary with picnics and swim parties.” 

“Alright, warm it will be, even if I have to set an enormous heating charm over the area.” 

“I know it’s cliché, but I thought it might be nice to be a June bride.” 

“You mean I have to wait a whole year to make you my wife?”  She started to stand, using the wall for support. 

“Patience is a virtue, Harry.  Let’s see how virtuous you can be.” 

“I’ll be anything you want,” he said, boxing her in on the wall with his arms.  Even with a red nose and puffy eyes, she was the loveliest woman he’d ever known. 

“I just want _you_ , Harry.” She fingered a few strands of hair off his forehead.  “Messy hair, green eyes – I’ll even take the hero worship if I have to.” 

Harry couldn’t resist, even in this conference room with the threat of employees nearby, he just had to kiss her.  Pressing into her, his lips found home, moving slowly over hers.  The lingering taste of salty tears added to the flavor and he deepened the kiss, hungry for more.  Warbling softly, she tilted her hips toward him.  A little voice in the back of his head teased him with thoughts of taking her right against the wall, the excitement of public sex and the thrill that went along with the real possibility of getting caught.  He wanted her so badly right now.  And she must have felt the same because her hand just slipped inside his robes and cupped him with a firm, but gentle caress. 

“Gin,” he moaned, his breath coming faster.  “Don’t do that unless you’re gonna follow through.” 

“Here?” she asked. 

“You’re right, we shouldn’t.” 

About seven minutes later, Harry walked out of the conference room.  This time it was _his_ legs that shook.  Checking the corridor, he held the door for Ginny and they walked toward the lobby.  After seeing her safely onto the lift, he returned to his office, slumping into his leather chair.  He smiled, about to return to the reports when his mobile phone rang. 

“Yeah, Potter.” 

“Is Ms. Weasley doing better?” 

It was Mason.  “Yes, Corporal.  Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, sir.  Oh…sir?” 

“Yes?” 

“You might want to keep in mind that the detention wing is pretty closely monitored.  I happen to be the one assigned to that duty today.” 

“Oh, yes, well…thanks for the reminder.” 

“Don’t forget to zip up.” 

“Oh, shite,” he whispered, but he was sure that the voice on the other end of the phone laughed just before the call ended.  He’d owe the man big time! 

***  

Ron woke up greeted by a bright stream of sunlight whiting out the sheer curtains on his window.  Before thinking of anything else, his thoughts moved to that perfect dawn with Hermione on his broom.  Answering his male member’s call to action, he rolled over, smiling at the prospect of a _naked_ Hermione on a broom and what that might entail.  Instead, his hand landed on a rumpled set of sheets, no warm body to curl up against. 

That surprised him and he sat up, checking the rest of the room.  She wasn’t there.   Days now – she’d slept with him.  Heavenly.  Her scent, the sound of air filling her lungs, sweet, soft skin meeting his lips, the heat from her addictive body – he swore he would never take for granted the ultimate contentment of spooning up behind her.  How would he manage without her in his bed?  At some point, they’d return to their homes, miles apart.  He’d still see her, that was a certainly, both at work and in every moment he could make, but the living arrangements?  Would she consider moving in with him? 

He always considered Hermione a bit on the conservative side when it came to matters such as this.  Was he just being naïve to think that she’d move out of her flat and join him, living in sin with her parents’ disapproving glare hovering over them?  They liked him.  At least he thought they did.  As far as he knew, he’d never done anything to make them dislike him, but was he live-in-boyfriend material?  Maybe he was thinking about this all wrong.  What if she expected more?  Was this new arrangement, this relationship, their cohabitation, all a precursor to something even more life altering? 

_Merlin, I hope so._  

His own thoughts surprised him.  He wanted more.  That was a realization that he hadn’t encountered before.  No, that wasn’t the truth.  Juvenile, irrational thoughts of a fairytale nature had invaded his dreams in the past.  Probably not in the same way a girl might picture their own prince and princess story, but Ron’s forever after seemed to always include her.  So, truthfully, he’d considered a forever scenario with her before.  He chuckled.  Now, it seemed so real.  So attainable.  He’d only have to ask.  Then a vision of him on his knee, asking for her hand, brought with it the scorching burn of anxiety.  Would she say no?  “Huh.”  He swallowed hard setting the image aside for consideration at a later moment. 

One certainty, such thoughts had reduced his morning libido.  Depressed at losing the suggestion of a morning twiddle, Ron pushed himself out of bed and sluffed off to the shower.  Knowing his girl, she was probably reading the Daily Prophet, sipping tea, writing an editorial on elf-rights, solving world hunger and developing a new set of standardized tests for Hogwarts students.  Stepping into the shower, he laughed at his own meanderings.  All of those things would have sounded ridiculous and elusive just years before.  They embodied all the qualities, that in the days of his youth, he rolled his eyes at, more interested in Quidditch practice and wizard’s chess.  Now, however, he felt only undeniable pride for his darling girl.  Even with everything he had accomplished, it felt so inconsequential compared to Hermione’s potential. 

His stamina level remained low, but he was beginning to adjust to a body vacant of magical energy.  Parker said that even if his cells did regenerate, it would take time.  He’d understood that fact before going to Hermione that morning.  Parker made it clear that he might never get his magic back.  Looking back, he didn’t regret it.  True, he had on numerous occasions picked up his wand and unconsciously attempted to put out the lights or retrieve a book, only to pause mid-stroke and sorrowfully set the slender strip of wood back down.  But that sorrow only lasted as long as he could keep his thoughts off of her – and that wasn’t long.  Hearing her voice, seeing her smile, marveling at the sparkle in her brown eyes or the way she walked into a room left all sorrow far behind. 

The trial was today.  His hands fumbled trying to knot his tie and he finally left it hanging around his neck and went downstairs in search of the woman he knew that could help him.  Far too many voices filled the dining room for it to be just the usual crowd.  Striding in, he tried not to grimace at the sight of his mum and dad.  He wasn’t in the mood for another day of maternal smothering. 

“Good morning, Ronald,” his mother smiled, pouring tea into his father’s cup. 

“Morning, Mum.”  Love and obligation pushed him forward as he walked over and kissed his mum on the cheek, then turned to do the same to his dad. 

“Morning, son.” 

“Um…Hermione?” he glanced at his open shirt and picked up the ends of his dangling tie.  “Could you maybe…” 

She was up before he finished the sentence.  “Of course.” 

This worked out well.  A sort of two for one deal.  Not only did he get his tie knotted, he got a chance to touch his best girl.  Hermione wrapped her delicate fingers around the tie, adjusting his collar and occasionally stroking her hand over his chest and smoothing a button.  She smelled so good, he was sure he swayed from the impact for just a tiny second.  Dressed for court, she had her hair up in a twist, a thin line of gray sweeping over the side.  The color was returning.  He gripped her waist.  It was still rail thin, but some of the fullness was returning in her hips, her cheeks, her breasts – he tried not to stare. 

He was about to sneak a kiss when footsteps approached from the other room. 

“Mrs. Granger!” he greeted, surprised to see the woman walking out of Harry’s kitchen. 

“Hello, Ronald.  Well, it’s just lovely to see you looking so good!”  Mrs. Granger walked over and patted him on the cheek.  “Hermione told me what you did for her.”  His eyes darted to Hermione in terror.   

“She did?” 

“Yes.  Such a sacrifice.  She is a lucky, lucky girl to have friends like you and Harry that are willing to give up so much and donate the very essence of their lives for her.” 

“Thank you, ma’am,” he squeaked, his eyes bulging in horror.  She didn’t actually tell her mother what they did, did she?  It’s her mother!  Is she so close that they discuss these types of intimate details?  Ewww.  He’d rather die than tell his mother about his bedroom activities with Hermione. 

Mrs. Granger’s eyes were so sincere, it scared him.  “She told me you were exhausted afterwards.  I’m sure your parents were worried sick about you!”  Mrs. Granger joined Molly at the table and soon they were involved in idle chit chat. 

Ron bent down and whispered in Hermione’s ear.  “I can’t believe you told her all of that!” 

Hermione smiled curiously.  “It was all over the news, Ronald.  You nearly drowned.  How could I not tell her?” 

“Oh.  Oh!”  Ron started putting two and two together, realizing his mistake. 

“Come get some breakfast.  We have to leave for the Ministry in about thirty minutes.” 

Harry had already started explaining the events to come.  “…and the prosecutor has witnesses from the mental hospital as well.  We will probably get called to testify, but I don’t see how Carrow can get out of this one.” 

“You said he’ll be behind glass?” Molly asked. 

“He’ll be in a separate wing all together, nowhere near the courtroom itself.  We used some Muggle technology to set up video cameras.” 

For some strange reason, Ginny kept mentioning a bed of flowers she had planted in the back.  He’d never known her to be so fascinated with gardening, but she wanted her parents and Mrs. Granger to see them.  After clearing the breakfast dishes, they all poured out of the back door leaving Harry, Hermione and himself. 

“Hey, mate…um…can we talk for a minute?” Harry appeared nervous, stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

“About?” 

Hermione eased up from her chair and mumbled about forgetting something before walking into the next room. 

“I have some news and I want to tell you in person.” 

Harry’s tone had him worried.  His mind began to circulate ideas, some practical, some completely idiotic.  Was he moving?  Changing jobs?

“Alright, then tell,” Ron frowned, his stomach knotting up. 

“Um…I…well, you know how I’ve felt about your sister for a while now.” 

“Did you knock her up?” It was the first thing that popped into his mind. 

“No!  No, she’s not pregnant.  God, no.” 

“Good.  I love you to death Harry and I really don’t want to have to take you in a fist fight over my sister’s honor, but I will if I have to.” 

“I believe you.  Is it an honorable thing to ask her to marry me?” 

“What?”  Ron wasn’t sure if Harry just asked a question or admitted a profound truth.  “Did you?” 

“Yes.  I love her Ron.  I really do.  I need you to know that.  This isn’t some silly infatuation or immature crush.  I want to marry her and stay with her forever.” 

“Wow.”  He was too stunned to say much more.  The anger he thought would drive him just wasn’t there.  It had been replaced with love.  Brother-in-law.  Brother!  He’d actually be his brother!  He smiled, breathing heavier.  This was fantastic news!  Harry flinched as Ron advanced on him, but he didn’t let him get away, instead wrapping Harry’s head in the crook of his arm and pulling him in for a bone crushing hug.  “Wow!” 

“Let go, Ron.”  Harry sounded out of breath and Ron realized he was still squeezing.   

“Oh, sorry.” 

“So, just wow?  That’s all you have to say?  I mean, you’re not going to hit me or…” 

“No, I’m not going to hit you.  I can’t guarantee anything with my other brothers, but I’m damn proud of you, Harry!” 

“Really?” he smiled. 

“Have you told my parents?” 

“Not yet.  I wanted you to know first.” 

The back door opened, the garden observatory over.  Any more discussion on the wedding would have to wait. 

Harry, Ginny, Molly and Arthur Apparated to the courtyard of the Ministry and waited for Ron, Hermione and Mrs. Granger who were riding in Mrs. Granger’s auto.  The Ministry was full of people, a lot of buzz going around about the happenings at Trafalgar Square.  The moment Harry and Ron were spotted, the autograph seekers pounced.  The two men smiled and tried to sound cordial pushing through the crowd, but Harry did break down and sign the newest addition of ‘Hogwarts: A History’ for a little eleven year-old boy.  How could he have resisted with the boy’s cheerful ‘they have a whole chapter just on you, Mr. Potter!’ exclamation. 

Reaching the Wizengamot chamber, several seats had been reserved for them up front.  Mrs. Granger, Molly and Arthur sat in the back.  Ron looked around, surprised to see the Mayor of Budapest and his wife – who wiggled her fingers at him with a smile.  To their left, Karoly and the other body guard they had met.  A pale, weak looking man shook in his seat one row back and Ron recognized him as the victim that Carrow had stripped on his way to Budapest.  Then there was the male nurse they had interviewed and probably a handful of supervisors and lawyers that were sweating bullets about potential lawsuits against the hospital. 

Within minutes everyone was asked to stand and the judges strode in and took their seats.  Ron had been to quite a few trials, but nothing of this magnitude except perhaps when Lucius Malfoy was being questioned after the Battle of Hogwarts.  A large video screen flickered to life, first blue, then a clear headshot of Artimus Carrow materialized.  The courtroom’s inhabitants gasped, maybe from his sickly appearance, but likely even that wasn’t all that different from his usual expression.  The room fell silent at the sound of the gavel, only Carrow’s raspy breathing filling the room, and the Minister started his opening remarks. 

Ron caught Judge Randolph glancing at him on more than one occasion.  Diane was probably nearby, but he didn’t want to chance a look.  Following the opening remarks, the prosecutors began calling witnesses:  the male nurse, ashamed at a serious lack of judgment and loss of a key, a doctor from the same hospital who admitted that she had left a book with notes out in the open where Carrow could have found the now identified curse.  Then the mayor, his wife, Karoly, who with sudden clarity, positively identified Carrow as the man who had attacked Hermione.  Ron felt a jerk and caught sight of Hermione’s face, horrible memories rushing in on her.  Her hands trembled and he took them in his, trying to give her the calm she needed.  He leaned in.  “He won’t ever hurt you again.” 

She nodded just before they called her name.  He knew she was scared, but she never showed it, except perhaps when she looked at him.  They questioned her for at least an hour, but she held up, refusing to look at the man on the video screen who kept making lude gestures towards her.  Ron wanted to just beat the man to a pulp, but he opted to keep his focus on Hermione, wanting to give her all his support.  When they finally excused her, she stepped down, passing in front of the video. 

Carrow smiled.  “Oh, Hermione!  It’s nice to see you again.  I’ve missed our little talks.” 

Ron was shocked when his otherwise stoic girlfriend lost her cool.  She spun toward the screen.  “Rot in hell.”  Then she spun back and returned to her seat.  A small round of applause rattled in the back of the courtroom and the Minister both chastised Carrow and his defense attorney for the interruption. 

“What are you gonna do to me?” Carrow whined.  “I’m already dying, like I’m worried about you sending me to Azkaban.  Go ahead, send me.  I’ll make sure I infect every single inmate and guard I can.” 

“Mr. Carrow!” the Minister exclaimed, “that is quite enough.” 

“Quite,” Carrow replied and started to cough rather dramatically. 

Harry was called next and the courtroom erupted in applause.  Even the Minister who was all about decorum and process stopped to acknowledge the savior of their world.  Harry explained about how he had come to Hermione’s flat to help her leave and had been attacked by Carrow.  The events at the warehouse were next.  Finally, they asked him to explain the scene at Trafalgar Square. 

Ron followed.  He calmly recited the events he had been a part of, in the flat, the warehouse, Trafalgar Square and even some about his relationship with Diane Randolph.  As he exited the witness chair, Diane passed him on her way up.  He noticed the very last yellow glow from the bruise on her face, but otherwise, she looked normal.  Not that she’d ever feel completely normal again.  Despite his offer to talk, she hadn’t come to see him.  In a way he was relieved and yet, he still suffered the guilt of her injuries and the emotional stress it had put her under. 

Carrow seemed to perk up on the screen as he saw her take the chair, throwing in a “hi, sweetie” as she passed.  Ron had a pretty good idea of what was going to happen next.  His eyes flashed to Diane even though he could tell that Hermione was watching both of them.  He truly didn’t want to see her suffer on the stand, but knew there was little he could do than provide moral support. 

Diane kept her eyes down most of the time.  Once the bubbly, vivacious girl who had annoyed him to death, she now wallowed in a sobriety born of abuse and degradation. 

Despite numerous warnings, Carrow kept injecting comments after each of Diane’s responses.  “That a girl”, “you’re looking lovely today”, “yummy, isn’t she?” and then as if trying to hammer the final nail into her psychological coffin, he exclaimed “what a sweet, sweet pussy” as she returned to her seat. 

Luckily, the Minister had the foresight to break for lunch at that time.  Diane looked extremely pale as he watched her in the lobby, a woman who must have been her mother, coddling her with soothing words.  After grabbing a bite to eat, they were waiting in the lobby, Hermione offering her fortieth thank you to Hugh Godfrey and company, when Diane walked up to him. 

“Hello, Ronald.” 

“Hi, Diane.  You look much better.  How are you doing?” 

“Getting there.  It doesn’t help having to look at him.” 

“Yeah.  He was way out of line.  You shouldn’t have to listen to that filth.” 

“It will be worth it when they sentence him.”  Her eyes avoided him. 

“I guess.  Well, it’s good seeing you again.  The offer still stands if you need to talk.” 

“I’m seeing a therapist.  Mummy insisted.  He’s the same one treating John.” 

“You didn’t go to see him, did you?” 

“Yes.  We got him some help.” 

Ron wanted to warn her again, but they were all being called back into the courtroom.  It was the defense’s turn.  Ron didn’t envy the team of lawyers saddled with trying to exonerate the pile of human excrement that did little to enhance his defense.  Many of them were called up again, similar questions with a twist, trying to find holes in anyone’s story.  But all remained solid.  There were no lies to tell, hence no holes to find.  In fact, a few of the defense’s witnesses backfired on them.  Ron’s cross was relatively short. 

Then Hermione returned to the stand.  As if she hadn’t suffered enough, they grilled her relentlessly for hours, insinuating that her loss of magic had been a lie.  After all, she was fine.  When she explained that she had been cured, the attorney jumped on her with “but I thought there was no cure for this virus.  Are you a medical miracle, Ms. Granger?” 

Luckily, the prosecutor objected, noting that the method used to cure Hermione was not pertinent.  

Hermione’s eyes flashed to Ron and he held them.  It was impossible not to share her concern.  She must have looked a bit too desperate and they took advantage of that as well.  “Ms. Granger, who do you keep staring at?  Is that Mr. Weasley?  Has he been coaching you in what to say?  You are under oath, Ms. Granger.  If you lie, we can lock you up.” 

“Objection!” shouted the prosecution again. 

The courtroom buzzed again, like a swarm of Cicada’s vibrating in a tropical tree.  The Minister sorted it out, but then the attorney continued, unrelentless, claiming that Hermione had attacked Carrow for no reason, biting him and infecting him with some strange disease.  Ginny looked ready to pop a vein and Ron saw Harry restrain her from some unintentional outburst.   

“Ms. Granger, how long have you suffered from a mental illness?” 

“Wh-what?” Hermione replied, the question obviously taking her by surprise. 

“Well, I have statements from four Aurors that you…” he looked down at the document and read from it, “…growled, clawed at people and bit Mr. Carrow in an animalistic rage.”  Hermione’s eyes flashed to Ron, her breathing increased as her brow furrowed.  Ron knew the Aurors were obliged to give truthful statements and, truthfully, Hermione had acted out of character.  But, that didn’t prevent him from searching out each one of his subordinates in the courtroom and sharing a glare of displeasure at their actions.  He immediately noticed that Godfrey and Kreighton were looking at each other in disbelief. 

“Does that sound like the behavior of a sane person?” the attorney continued.  “Are you on medication?”  At that Hermione blanched white, appearing totally appalled at this line of questioning to the point that she might hyperventilate from the labored breathing.  “Have you seen a mind healer?  Ms. Granger, are you a threat to yourself or others?”   

“Objection!” cried the prosecutor just as Hermione clutched at her stomach and darted out of the witness chair.  “Excuse me,” she mumbled, stumbling toward the exit, one hand across her mid-section, one over her mouth. 

“Guard, stop that witness!” Carrow’s attorney yelled, but Ron was up and positioned between the Wizengamot Guard and Hermione before he even finished the sentence. 

“What’s wrong with you people?  She’s the victim in this whole mess!” Ron yelled in the direction of the lawyer and jogged out the door after her.  He could hear others trying to follow and the court guard stepping in the way. 

Clearing the doorway, he found Hermione heaving over a nearby trash bin.  It seemed she hadn’t made it to the nearest loo.  He ran to her side, not sure what to do as she jerked again from the unwelcome contractions in her stomach.   

“’Mione…” 

As luck would have it, the horde of photographers heard the retching noises and were all rounding the corner filled with glee over the prospect of another great news story.  Ultimately, that joy was interrupted by a towering redhead fuel by anger and a protective streak that saw no equal.  Just as one camera rose to the photographer’s eye, Ron ripped it out of the man’s hand.  He’d be damned if they were going to publish a photo of Hermione puking into a trash bin.  He might not be able to wield a wand, but he could still protect her this time. 

“You take one picture of her and you will have to deal with me,” Ron threatened.  “Do you understand?” 

The Wizengamot Guard cleared the doors, ordering the publicity hounds back.  Mrs. Granger and Mrs. Weasley burst through the doors a second later suddenly caught in the mass of reporters trying to clear the hall.  Ron handed the camera off to the guard and turned his attention back to Hermione who was slowly sinking down the wall.  He ran to her side, catching her arm before she hit the floor.  “Let’s go sit down over here.”  Pulling her back up, he helped her over to a nearby bench in the corridor just as the two women reached her. 

“Hermione, darling, are you alright?” Mrs. Granger asked, kneeling in front of her. 

“I…I’m sorry.  I just…I…” Hermione sputtered, unable to say much as she sat folded over. 

Molly ran into the nearby restroom and returned with a transformed cup of water in her hand.  Mrs. Granger stroked her daughter’s back and assured her she’d be alright.  Ron kept one wary eye toward the barely hidden paparazzi and one on the courtroom doors, sure that someone would appear any moment wanting an update. 

When he looked back, Hermione was sipping water having been coaxed back up by the other two women.  She kept blowing out air, her breathing still coming faster than normal.  The WG returned, but stood an appropriate distance away, joined by Hermione’s on-again, off-again bodyguard, Hugh Godfrey.  As usual, his concern had drawn him out to the corridor. 

“Is she going to be able to continue?” the guard asked. 

Hermione nodded, still sipping and blowing out puffs of air.  “Just give me a couple of minutes.” 

The guard nodded to Hugh and walked back into the courtroom, probably on his way to report to the judges.  Hugh walked toward Hermione and the others, his eyes making contact with Ron in some form of unspoken collaboration.  He seemed sincerely bothered by the fact that Hermione looked so ill. 

“Ms. Granger?” Hugh called out, “um…Hermione?”  Again Hugh shot Ron a glance before kneeling down in front of her.  “I wanted you to know that I didn’t say any of those things about you.  Those things the attorney mentioned.  It wasn’t me or Kreighton or Williams.  We would never…” 

“I know,” Hermione replied.  “I know you wouldn’t and I appreciate it.” 

“Then who said them?” asked Ron. 

“I’m not sure, Sir.”  Godfrey seemed to swallow down anything else he was about to say and stood back up.  Looking as if he didn’t know how to continue, he just tipped his head to Ron and turned back, shuffling down the hall and disappearing behind the double doors. 

Suddenly, Hermione pulled her shoulders back, took one final breath and stood up.  “Let’s get this over with.” 

Ron kept one hand on her elbow until they reached the front of the courtroom.  Hermione whispered “thanks” and returned to her seat.  Mrs. Granger and Molly slipped back into their own seats as well and within thirty seconds, the attorney was back at it. 

The disruption didn’t seem to have any effect on his line of questioning and he jumped right back in.  Hermione’s sanity was called into question on numerous occasions with continued threats of calling various Auror’s to the stand who could corroborate the story of her bizarre behaviors.  Ron wondered if anyone else noticed the subtle gesture as she moved her fingertips over her stomach.  Beyond the heaving, she’d probably be tied in such knots later that it would take him days, nee weeks to relax her again.  It seemed so needless and completely unfair to put this woman through such torture for the likes of the dragon dung sitting in the other room.  Ron twitched in his seat, desperately wanting to march up and pull her out of that witness chair. 

A sympathetic hand shrouded in fury had gripped his heart and was squeezing every time she bit her lip, frowned or winced at the attorney’s words.  Unbelievably, Carrow decided to lie down, as if unconcerned with the proceedings.  More likely, his illness had zapped all his energy.  Either way, no objection stopped them and they were at least afforded a couple hours of peace from his relentless depravity. 

The moment Hermione returned to her seat, Ron wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.  She sunk against him, all the fight gushing out of her to be replaced by a trembling, frail, beautiful girl.  Would it be possible to never leave her side again?  The urge to protect her, to keep her from ever experiencing anything like this again – it overwhelmed him.  He accepted the job with enthusiasm, kissing her head and whispering “I love you so much, Hermione.” 

Unbelievably, the defense decided to call John Rasmussen to the witness chair.  It was a pretty good bet that John would lie through his teeth for Carrow.  Ron pulled Hermione closer, trying to shield her from every sound, every movement of air that might even come as the result of John’s walk through the room.  They’d been away from him long enough now that Ron’s hatred for the man had mellowed to intensive loathing.  Diane’s words returned to his memory.  John had helped her.  Twice.  That statement alone probably provided the only shred of evidence to his humanity.  Ron wanted to hate him as much, if not more than Carrow.  It was John, not Carrow, that imprisoned Hermione, sampled her blood, bruised her, verbally abused her and – he couldn’t bear thinking it – touched her on rare occasions.  And yet, in the grand scheme of things, Carrow sat at the top of the evil scale while John sunk a few notches below. 

Dressed in a suit, John was escorted into the courtroom and took the witness chair.  His eyes first flashed to Hermione and Ron tried to move himself to block the view, but Hermione tensed and he knew she’d seen it.  Ron tried reading the expression, if only because he wanted to know how to deal with Hermione’s reaction.  Curiously, John appeared quite different from what he expected.  The stiff arrogance had been replaced with humble, sloping shoulders.  His eyes appeared soft, apologetic as he looked at Hermione and then – no, he couldn’t believe it – John mouthed ‘I’m sorry’ in her direction.  Ron glanced at Hermione and back at John.  How dare he?  He was sorry?  What a joke.  It rattled him for a moment, but then he heard the subtle sniff beside him and tipped his head to see Hermione’s lashes dotted with moisture.  

“Are you alright?  Do you want to leave?” 

She shook her head and released a deep breath, nudging her head against his shoulder. 

The defense attorney looked smug, straightening his suit as he walked up to the witness chair.  It was obvious he had a plan and thought it was foolproof.  Ron listened as he began his list of questions:  how they met, their childhood, their abusive parents, Arty’s mentally unstable mother, their friendship and Arty’s mentoring.  John made him out to look like the pope in training, all good and honest and horribly wronged in his youth.  Boo hoo hoo.  Ron wanted to slap the jurors back to reality, but he suspected they weren’t taken in by it all. 

Still, he didn’t want them to even provide a molecule of proof for any redeeming qualities in this pond scum.  John’s answers were quite matter of fact, bland, not emotional, but believable.  That was scary.  John really did believe that the man cared about him. 

_Oh, please.  Don’t fall for that!_  

“So, Mr. Rasmussen, after having spent so much time with Mr. Carrow over the course of your life, after sharing your childhood and your blood, after his years of friendship and encouragement and sharing the bond of two men abused, how would you describe Mr. Carrow?” 

This was supposed to be the character witness part. 

The defense attorney looked ready to burst with optimism.

“He’s a worthless maggot chewing on the dead carcass of victims and he deserves to rot painfully in prison for the rest of his life.” 

Ron thought the defense attorney might have suffered a stroke.  The courtroom went dead silent, even the judges seemed paralyzed.  A single, girly chuckle tripped over the abysmal quiet.  Ron knew that chuckle and he turned to look at Diane.  She smiled.  At him!  What the hell was she smiling about?  Then it struck him. 

_Oh, my god, that’s funny!_  

Ron cleared his throat to stifle the laugh.  Harry rolled his lips into his mouth to hold back his own guffaw.  This was just too sweet.  John had turned on him.  The fly who loved the shite had flown away in search of a flower!  He was still just a fly, extremely swattable, and yet…it was unbelievable. 

The defense attorney sat stunned, unable to continue.  The prosecutor saw his chance and went in for the kill, immediately building upon the shock and awe with a tally of Carrow’s crimes, even discrediting some of John’s more pleasant sounding memories.  Voices mumbled throughout the room, heads ducked in whisper. 

Carrow suddenly sat up, rejuvenated from his nap and saw John.  “Cuz!” 

John took one look at him and left the witness stand, escorted back to his Muggle prison cell by the awaiting guards.  Carrow looked confused. 

“What the fuck happened?” 

The Minister asked for closing arguments, but the defense attorney deflated like a four day-old balloon.  Nothing could or would be said to try and salvage a defense for the indefensible.  By five o’clock the Minister called for a verdict and it came swiftly.  Carrow was found guilty before he could even finish scratching his balls on the monitor. 

Without warning, Ginny stood up.  “Minister, I would like to say something before you pronounce sentence.”

"You are Ms. Weasley I believe?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Is there any objection?” the Minister asked, but all was quiet, even the stunned looking defense attorney. 

Harry shrugged as Ginny left his side.  She stood directly in front of the video monitor, obviously wanting Carrow to see her clearly. 

“Minister, members of the Wizengamot, my name is Ginevra Weasley.  I am with the Ministry Health Department and a Healer at St. Mungo’s in the Infectious Spells Research Department.  Mr. Carrow is currently infected with the virus that has been sweeping through Europe.  I have spoken to Mr. Carrow and informed him that he would most likely die from this virus due to his frail health.  I also informed him that there is an experimental treatment that may save his life.  He seemed indifferent on the subject.  In the name of justice, I think that prolonging his life, in any capacity, and hence the ability for a lifelong sentence in prison, would provide much more closure for those innocent victims than his ability to escape punishment with an early death.  We have the ability to strip him of his magic and hence take away the virus’s ability to thrive.  Mr. Carrow will be reduced to a squib or less where he will no longer be a magical danger to our community.  I would ask the Wizengamot to consider this as part of his punishment.” 

Ginny turned directly at the video screen and stared at Carrow.  Ron wasn’t sure what she was doing, but noticed Harry smile.  He’d have to ask later. 

Carrow’s reply?  “You can always come visit me in prison for a little hokey pokey.” 

Ginny did a sharp pivot and returned to her seat.  Harry kissed her on the cheek. 

The Minister turned to speak with the others nearest to him, spinning back in his chair.  “Mr. Carrow, before we pronounce sentence, would you like to say anything in your defense?” 

Everyone watched the monitor.  Ron wasn’t sure, but he thought a glint of terror flashed in Carrow’s eyes.  If he was smart, which he wasn’t, he’d beg for mercy and apologize for all his crimes.  But Satan never prayed for forgiveness, he basked in the fire that consumed him, only pulling more down along the way.  And so that was Carrow’s manifesto. 

Sucking in a raspy breath he spat a large wad of flem onto the video lens.  “You can’t take my magic.  You can try, but I’m too smart for you.  You won’t be able to keep me prisoner.  I’ll get out.  Soon.  And when I do, I’ll finish what I started.” 

“Very well, Mr. Carrow.  It is the judgement of this court that you are to be stripped of your magic and sentenced to life in a Muggle prison for the remainder of your life.  You will be eligible for parole in one hundred twelve years.  So, please do look me up when you get released.”  He swung the gavel down and a united breath escaped all the bodies in the room.  The prosecutor took great delight and flipping off the video monitor and promptly walked over and shook Harry’s hand. 

“Let’s go home,” said Hermione.


	29. Chapter 28 - Full Circle

  
Author's notes: The last full chapter!  There's still the epilogue to go, but yes, it's coming to an end.  I was going to take a break from writing, but due to several of my readers encouraging comments, I actually found another partially written story and am working on it.  So, watch for something later in the winter or spring.  Until then, enjoy this and let me know what you think!  Indie - thanks for all your help and hope you get back home soon!  


* * *

Chapter 28 – Full Circle  

The courtroom emptied, spilling into the corridors and finally the Ministry’s main lobby.  Reporters dashed off to file their stories, photographers tried to catch another prize photo.  Ron watched as Hermione cringed under a photographer’s flash on several occasions.  Maybe it was the stress of the trial, the heat in the courtroom or the swarm of people snapping flashbulbs in her face, but she looked as if she might pass out on several occasions.  He kept a supportive arm around her as a precaution, guiding her through the crowd.  Arriving back at the auto, Molly invited everyone to the Burrow for dinner. 

Watching his parents, his sister, and Harry walk back to the designated Apparition spot, Ron realized he was going to have to tell his parents soon.  They assumed he was riding with Mrs. Granger out of courtesy or possibly because Hermione wanted him with her, totally unaware his lack of magic was appearing more and more permanent.  Ron supposed he’d have to get used to auto rides, perhaps learn how to drive one himself.  It was going to take a while to adjust.  He was grateful for Kingsley who was already taking steps to keep him in the mainstream Auror Division, but also telling him he expected the same level of work, just of a different type.  He wasn’t sure he could deal with sympathetic looks and ‘poor Ron’ comments when he went back to work, which would be very soon. 

The part that bothered him most was the idea that he might not be able to protect Hermione from danger.  Sure, he could take most men in an average fist fight, but in his world, the wand was usually mightier than muscle.  Otherwise, he tried to look at the glass half-full and not half-empty.  If Hermione had lived all those years as a child without truly having magic, he figured he could, too.  Watching the buildings go by, he sighed unintentionally, thinking about the only thing he’d truly miss: Flying. 

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked quietly as the car spun through the streets of London. 

“Just thinking how much I’ll miss riding my broom.”  Hermione reacted promptly, reaching over to take his hand.  She knew how this impacted him, and was constantly supportive.  Holding her warm hand made it all worthwhile.   

Before Hermione could say anything, Mrs. Granger spoke up conveying some story about the spot that she and Mr. Granger had met and the historical significance of some of the buildings they passed.  Eventually, they rolled through Ottery St. Catchpole and out the country lane that would lead them up to the Burrow. 

For Ron, walking into his childhood home was instantly rejuvenating.  Memories of playful siblings, holidays, family dinners and even discipline all stacked up as the foundation for the life that grew above it.  He smiled to himself at the sense of accomplishment it gave him for his job, his relationship with Hermione, everything that made him who he was – all based in this broken down, lopsided house.  It was also the place he had first known what it meant to be endowed with the gift of magic.  Pictures hung without hooks or wires, the wireless seemed to tune itself although Ron knew his mother was probably directing that with her wand around the corner, plates shifted on the table into perfect place settings, the conveniences of a magical life surrounded him.  How could he not live this way?  Had he been fooling himself? 

A _visitor_ entering the Burrow that evening might not have ever noticed the mixed atmosphere.  But for those present, the eyes said it all.  Sitting around the dinner table was a mixing bowl of thoughts caught in the whirlwind of a blender.  Some faces appeared angry, some numb, others excited and one pleasantly unaware.  Appearing a bit pale, Hermione excused herself, but returned moments later, sipping water and sporting a pair of denims in place of the dress robes from earlier.   

Mrs. Granger hadn’t stayed for the whole trial, despite her own desire for justice from the man that had attacked her family.  Shortly after Hermione’s incident in the courtroom, she stepped outside for some air and then with Molly’s assurances that Hermione would be fine, opted to wait in the hall to avoid the rest of the Carrow’s comments.  She put on a pleasant demeanor although most people wondered if she was still feeling overwhelmed by her own attack.  At the moment, she was providing the firm, upright mast of this swaying ship of emotions with a smile and cheerful, yet pointed, questions.

“So, tell me how it went.  Did they find the man guilty?” Mrs. Granger asked, absently touching the remainder of the wound on her forehead. 

“Yes,” replied Harry when it looked like no one else was going to speak.  “They basically sentenced him to life in prison.” 

“Good.  One less miscreant on the streets,” Mrs. Granger replied, seemingly satisfied that justice had been served. 

Molly and Ginny walked in from the kitchen, each carrying platters of food and hopeful expressions.  His mum practiced the art of positive thinking – she was a connoisseur of putting on a good face.  Numerous childhood memories came to mind that, had Molly not exercised her skills in this area, the family might have just fallen apart.  Fred’s death had to be the only time that his mother had lost all composure.  When she cried, the entire household sunk into a spiraling depression.  That had been the roughest time in their family’s history. 

Surprisingly, what saved them?  Laughter.  Memories of Fred kept creeping out in slowly returning conversation and invariably, each story would end with something that was impossible not to find humorous.  The present scene wasn’t nearly as bad as those after Fred’s death, but it would be treated with the same cure.  Molly put out a fabulous feast – and heaven knows how a full stomach helps the weary – and Ginny took up the mantle with her own upbeat attitude. 

Ron wasn’t contributing to the laughter as he usually would.  Today he played the part of an observer.  He didn’t relish being the bearer of more bad news and was procrastinating for as long as possible.  Watching Ginny, he wondered if this cheerfulness was a setup, softening up the folks and leading to the engagement announcement or perhaps the fact that she wasn’t really the homebody she claimed to be.  Was it really necessary?  His mum and dad were probably ready to adopt Harry so he doubted there would be any sour faces or hesitation. 

Seeing them together gave him hope for his own relationship.  Just in the past couple of days the idea of forever with Hermione had resurfaced.  Logically, it felt far too early for questions of such significance, they had only been back together for days.  He didn’t want to scare her off, but he couldn’t help wondering, hoping, praying that if he were to ask, she’d accept.  Was it better to wait and be sure, to settle into a lifestyle of splitting dish duties, folding laundry and sharing a bathroom?  Did they need time to live like a couple, prepare themselves for the possibility?  Or was undeniable, unconditional, absolute love enough to go on?  The topic had been spinning silently within him for days. 

Perhaps this wasn’t the right moment.  Watching Hermione, he worried that the court’s forced reenactment of events had taken a toll on his still recovering girlfriend.  She looked physically ill and emotionally drained.  He wasn’t feeling all that up to snuff himself, but damned if he was going to let _her_ fade.  Maybe just asking her would settle any doubts.  Put it out on the table, maybe even lift her spirits.  She’d probably smile at the very least.  He could tell her that she didn’t have to give him an answer right away, but that he just wanted her to know how he felt.  That would take the pressure off of her, right?  Would he be able to make it through the night without knowing her answer?  He’d probably crawl right out of his skin.  Besides, he had no ring, nothing to offer her.  This was ridiculous!  Maybe he was too wrapped up in the emotions of the past few weeks.  They needed time to calm down, get back to their routines – Ron had to form some new ones.  Then he’d know if what he felt now was the real thing.  Right? 

He shook his head as if coming out of a daze, the voices tuning back in around him.  When he glanced up, Hermione was looking right at him!  She smiled.  How long had she been watching him?  Did his daydreams, his meanderings give anything away?  Was that smile of hers some secret signal or the simple expression of mirth that the makers had preordained on the loveliest of the earth’s creatures?  It affected him so intensely and he smiled in return. 

After consuming what some would consider two meals worth of roast beef, potatoes, buttered corn, baked apples and fresh rolls, most of the room’s inhabitants were disguising unbuttoned trousers with a skillfully placed napkin or pulled out shirt tails.  Molly, Arthur and Mrs. Granger  sampled the bottle of wine Mrs. Granger had brought along.  Ron and Harry chatted very quietly about the makings of a bachelor party – still months away – and they didn’t notice Ginny and Hermione retreating to the kitchen.  Ron sighed at the sound of idle banter, the level of relaxation permeating his skin far greater than he could remember in recent history.  Something through the window caught his eye and he glanced left, the glow from the house the only light.  Hermione stood outside, leaning on the fence, staring out into the empty night, only the stars for company.  He watched her toss her head back, draw in a deep breath and blow it out. 

“How about some chess?” Harry asked. 

“Um…sure, in a bit.  Let me go check on Hermione, alright?” 

“You bet.  I’ll help Ginny in the kitchen,” Harry wagged his eyebrows trying to raise a smile. 

Walking through the kitchen, Ron spied Ginny putting some finishing touches on something yellow, tall and covered in cream.  Noticing her brother, and obviously her new fiancé right behind, Ginny smiled brightly.  “We’ll do the big announcement over dessert, alright?” 

“Don’t start without me,” said Ron, stepping through the back door.  The quiet of the summer evening took over, the murmuring voices from the house blending with the occasional flutter of wings, chirp of crickets and soft rustle of waxy, green leaves shifting on their branches.  

He could just decipher her outline along the fence.  The navy sweater and denims only served to camouflage her against the evening sky.  Only the glow of kitchen light illuminated her feminine form.  It appeared that she had pulled the pin out of her hair, the up-twist now cascading around her shoulders.  It was hard to know if her presence here was troublesome or not, but either way, Ron couldn’t help but suffer the pain of a déjà vue from their conversation at this very spot a few weeks before.  How could he have been so cold, so distant?  It shamed him to recall.  He stood for a moment considering how lucky he was to have a do-over, a chance to replace those memories with new ones. 

His feet crunched against the soft grass as he walked up behind her.  He had no reason to think that she would be surprised by his appearance and that was good considering the stressful past weeks.  Close enough to feel the warmth of her body, he slowly gripped the top of the fence on either side of her, gently sliding his cheek along the side of her head.  Her scent, her warmth, all heavenly.  “Hi.” 

“Hi,” she replied, still looking straight ahead, her shoulders relaxed. 

“Standing here is giving me a big déjà vue.” 

***  

Hermione knew exactly what he meant.  That first dinner back from university had them standing in this exact same spot, the space between like an ocean between two ships caught in opposing currents.  A lifetime had transpired since then.   

“You know…” she began, relishing the feeling of him on her cheek “…when I came to the Burrow that first night back, all I wanted to do was talk to you.  Get you alone and hope with my fingers crossed that some miracle might bring our hands in contact with one another.  Honestly, I didn’t hope for much else, just a…a start, a touch, a word, something to make me hang on, make me believe that we weren’t completely over.” 

He nuzzled against her head.  “I wanted the same thing, Hermione, but I was having an argument with myself over the fact that I had missed the boat and some other man was now in your life.  I kept trying to convince myself that you didn’t matter, that I didn’t need you and your coming back wasn’t important.  But I couldn’t do it and it made me so angry.  I remember you asking about work and telling me about school, but I was too busy slapping myself to really listen.” 

“A lot has changed, hasn’t it?” 

“That’s an understatement.  I know _I’ve_ changed,” he moved down, kissing her cheek.  The same rush of feverish desire tripped down her spine that had chilled her on that evening weeks before.  His stance, no longer cold and separated, now radiated love and concern. 

Hermione slid her hand along the fence and rested it on top of his.  “I’m not going to wait for you this time,” she said.  “I’m going to make the first move.”   

He gripped her hand and, releasing the fence, slipped the other around her waist, a tiny tug at the end just to seal their proximity.  His closeness was so soothing to her frazzled nerves.  She didn’t want to lose the feeling, to say anything to make him move, just stand here in the peace of the evening and pretend everything was as it should be.  But things were not as they should be and her heart felt so heavy that she just had to tell him how she felt. 

“Ron, I…” 

Ron bent down to her ear.  “What?” 

“I feel like every other word out of my mouth should be an apology.” 

“For what?” 

“I took your…” 

“You didn’t take anything.” 

“I know…” she repeated back what he had told her numerous times, “…you gave it to me willingly.” 

“That’s true and I’d do it again to make you better.  I don’t have any regrets, Hermione.” 

“But I feel so bad knowing what you sacrificed.  I’m sure you’re probably sick of hearing it.  If I were you, I’d be wanting to just move on and deal with it and not constantly here ‘oh, I’m so sorry you lost your magic.’  But I’m feeling so guilty, I…” 

“Hermione…” 

“It’s really tearing me up inside.  I don’t know how to get past this.” 

“Do you realize the horrible guilt trip that I went on just letting you go in the first place?  Talk about being torn up.  I was…stupid, I guess immature would be a better description and well…my communication skills were pretty pathetic, inexcusable really.  I can’t believe I acted the way I did.” 

“But we talked about it.  You agreed that it was the best thing for me to go.” 

“That’s because I was too cowardly to speak up and tell you how I really felt.” 

“Ron, it wasn’t your fault.  I was being hard-headed and demanding.  I just wanted to get away and see the world and move on with my life.  I wasn’t thinking everything through.”  She spun around in his arms to face him.  “I wasn’t thinking about how much this was going to hurt you…and hurt me, too.  I really wish you’d stop punishing yourself for it.” 

“Honestly, I don’t know that I ever will.”  He stroked the back of his finger tips over her cheek.  “I’ve loved you for so long, Hermione.  You know, I hate to say it, but I think it was you getting attacked and losing your magic that really did it for me.  I guess there’s an old saying about ‘you never really know what you have until you lose it.’”  Hermione nodded for she had heard the phrase.  Ron’s eyes shifted away and his brow wrinkled before he turned and walked over to a nearby garden bench.  “When I heard what had happened to you, everything else started to melt away.  At first I just thought you would be better soon, but as you got worse, my life began to unravel.  All those repressed feelings for you wouldn’t stay tucked away any longer.  Talk about a guilt trip.  I…” he gulped, “I was actually glad that you might need me again, that maybe your being sick was a blessing in disguise.  I was so panicked that you were going to reject my offer when I came to you that morning.”  She started to walk toward him as he continued.  “I thought I was going to have to force you into it and my gut was in knots, but I couldn’t just let you die.  You see…doing this for you, helping you to be whole…it sort of healed me.  So, how can you feel guilty for healing this giant hole in my heart?”  

She sat beside him and he finally looked at her, his eyes conveying the intensity of his thoughts.  What was he thinking?  She wondered if he had as many questions to ask as she did.  No matter where their lives took them, she would forever be indebted to this man.  He’d given up an entire way of life for her.  She prayed every night that he’d recover and she vowed to stay at his side, convince him what an astonishing _person_ he truly was.  Why was this gorgeous man even with her?  It’s not that she didn’t believe him when he said he loved her, it was more that she didn’t deserve him.  Was it really fair for him to be burdened with her and all the emotional baggage right now?  When he spoke, the words shocked her, as if she were hearing her own heart pour from his lips. 

“I don’t deserve you, Hermione.” 

Her brows lifted to her hairline with shock.  “I think it’s the other way around, Ronald.  I feel like the luckiest woman in the world.”  She couldn’t get close enough to him and wound her hands up, over his sculptured stomach and across his chest, the smooth fabric of his oxford doing little to disguise the tight body underneath.  “I’ve had a lot of time to think in the past few weeks.  Some days, that’s all I _could_ do.  This whole incident has forced me to really change the way I look at things.” 

This time it was Hermione looking away, trying to explain the innermost workings of her psyche, almost hesitant to share such personal secrets and yet wanting him to know.  “If you haven’t already figured it out, I’m a planner.  Always have been.” 

“That’s no secret,” he replied and draped his arm over the back of the bench, his fingertips grazing her shoulder. 

“I guess I’m rather transparent.” 

“I wouldn’t say that.  I think you’re one of the most complex people I’ve ever known, beside’s Harry,” he chuckled.  “But I find that learning more about you is a lot of fun, frustrating at times, confusing, but still really enjoyable.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, so tell me about these plans,” he pulled her closer.  “I’d like to know.” 

“I suppose I’ve had a plan for my life for as long as I could remember. Of course, the plan changed, now and then, as my goals or fantasies directed them, but I adapted and stuck to the plan.”  Her eyes drifted from him.  “In Budapest, it was like my plan was ripped to shreds.  I felt like I had nothing to hold on to, no direction on what to do next.”  She rested her head on his shoulder.  “I tried to rebuild the plan, but all the items that used to be on it…a successful career, falling in love, getting married, having a family, a house…they were lost.  The new plan consisted of the ability to get up in the morning and maintain my body temperature.”   

Another wave of nausea slammed into her stomach and she had to sit up and blow out a breath of air.  “I need some air,” she said and he quickly loosened his arm.  So far, she was attributing this queasy stomach to nerves and having been in the same room with John today.  There was nothing else to explain it.  She sat and hung her head. 

“Hermione, what’s wrong?” he asked, his hand slowly traveling up her back.  She could hear the concern in his voice, the way it dipped just a little lower than normal, but she needed to get this out and waved him off.  

“Before I came back, my life’s plan was written on this huge roll of paper, always with new white space to add to it.  And then, suddenly, I was scribbling on a tiny scrap of torn parchment.   I kept trying to find space for you, but…” she looked up.  He was watching her intently, tiny lines between his eyes.  “Oh Ron, I wanted you, it’s not that I didn’t want you,” she wrung her hands.  “I was so jealous of Diane, it’s probably a good thing I didn’t have my magic or she might be horribly disfigured right now.” 

He shifted to face her on the bench, his hand stroking down her arm.  “I realize that now.  So…” she heard him swallow “…what’s your new plan?” he asked, getting her back on topic. 

“You see, that’s the problem.  I’ve got back my big sheet of paper, but I’m still rebuilding the list.” 

“Well, your job, your career, that should be at the top, right?  Getting your health fully restored.  Very important.  Finding a safe place to live without twenty locks on the door and bars on the window.” 

“Yeah, they’re toward the top, but I have to check off a few other items before I can get to them.  I took care of one this morning.  Putting Carrow behind bars.  So, that’s done.  Dealing with John, but I’m not sure how that will get resolved.” 

“Alright, what’s next?”  He started playing with her hair.  “We’ll just work our way down from the top.” 

We.  He said _we’ll_ just work our way down, not you.   

“You know you can count on me to help you with anything.” 

Was he considering something long-term?  Just how forward could she be?  Would it be prudent to tell him that marrying him ranked at number one?  She didn’t want to scare him away.  Besides, there were so many other things to deal with first and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to remove him from the top of her list. 

“You’re chewing on your lip, Hermione.  That always means that you’re thinking really hard about something.  I wish you’d just tell me and trust that I’m going to understand.” 

It was amazing how well he knew her.  She turned her eyes up to him and he grabbed hold and wouldn’t let go, drawing her to him with only his eyes.  “It isn’t hard to guess, Ronald.” 

“I don’t want to guess.  I deal much better with facts.  I’ve been guessing about how you feel and how I feel for years now and look where it’s gotten me.  I’m done with guessing.  I need to know the absolutes now.”  The queasy stomach wasn’t aided by the bucket of landed fish, flopping around mercilessly as his hand smoothed over her waist and up her back.  “I tell you what, I’ll go first.  Here are some facts.  Fact one:  I love you.  I never want to be parted from you again.  Fact two,” he raised two fingers and averted his eyes.  “I may not ever get my magic back.”  It appeared that saying that had been a hard thing for him to do and he had to take a settling breath.   “I’m not saying that to make you feel bad, but it’s a fact that we need to deal with.”  Then he kind of bounced back as if relieved at having said the worst of it.  “And fact three:  I have a nasty habit of not thinking before I speak.  I have a little bit of a temper and I may argue with you at times, but…” he spoke slowly, resolute “…I will never hurt you.  It is an absolute fact that I’m not perfect, but that in my eyes, despite anything you think, you _are_.”  He trailed his fingertip down her throat, his eyes following it as it disappeared behind her blouse. 

The mechanism for swallowing was just flat broke.  Something was stuck in her throat, maybe a huge teardrop.  No, that was too big for a teardrop.  It had to be her heart.  Why did he keep doing this?  Her brain couldn’t function when he spoke to her like this.  Instead, she was overwhelmed with split-second, flashing images of sunrise broom rides, swimming naked, screaming amongst the twisted sheets, white wedding gowns, curly red-haired children giggling at a picnic, Christmas presents and hand-held walks.  Her lips tingled with numbness and she blurted out things that were totally off topic, unable to cope with the emotions. 

“Isn’t it great about Harry and Ginny?  I bet your folks are going to be so happy.”  Ron squinted just slightly and she knew he was trying to figure her out, put some kind of reasoning to her sudden shift in direction.  She tried a smile on for size, but it must have slipped as she watched for his response.  Stupid!  Stupid!  That was about as far _on_ topic as she could get.  Her eyes closed.  What was she doing?!   

Ron’s knees met the grass in front of her.  He just slipped off the bench while her eyes were closed.  She nearly gasped at the visual it placed in her head.  Maybe she was a little too direct with that last question.   

“What are you do…?” she tried to ask. 

His strong arms encircled her and suddenly she jerked forward from the force of his grip, her legs hugging his sides.  The space between them seemed non-existent.  His chest pressed against her stomach and regions below.  If he kept holding her this close, new knickers would be in order.  She tried not to moan, but a little, barely-audible whimper escaped.  Nimble fingertips shuffled the fabric away from her waist as his warm palms slid under the back of her shirt, holding her firm and steady against him.  Her heart decided for a second that beating wasn’t nearly as necessary as she thought.  She prayed that no one chose this moment to look out the window.  Had Molly or her mother seen them like this, she would have been mortified at the intimacy on display. 

The glow of light from the kitchen shown through the strands of his ginger hair, like a halo of yellow-orange around his head as he stared at her.  For a fleeting second, she considered that this was her guardian angel kneeling before her.  Then, hearing his erratic breathing pattern, the nervousness that was clearly showing through, her heart and lungs traded places.  The thumping resumed with a fervor, but she couldn’t draw in any air.  She was sure that he was about to say something and the mere suggestion had her terrified and excited, intoxicated with a sort of unprepared ecstasy at what might flow from his lips.  

“Is there something I need to do, Hermione?” he asked, his expression serious, determined.  “Is…” he gulped “…is there a question you need to hear from me?”  His blue panic-filled eyes were searching, needing to know what to do, but Hermione was sure she was suffering from oxygen deprivation. 

“A-a-a question…?”   

“Help me out here, Hermione.  Tell me if you need to hear it.  I’ll ask it.  I’m ready to ask it, if you’re ready to hear it.  I just don’t want to screw this up.  If you think it’s too soon, if you need more time…” 

“No.” 

“No, you don’t want me to ask it?  Or, no, you don’t need more time?” 

“I…um…are you sure?  If you’re going to ask what I think you’re going to ask, then um...Ron, we have all the time in the world to decide.  I mean, I don’t… I didn’t say that just to get you to…oh, my god.” 

For once, Ron’s demeanor was calmer than hers.  He rested his forehead against her softly.  “Shhh,” his thumbs rubbing little bolts of electric current from her back straight to her toes.  Just as quickly, her mind shuffled through a catalogue of questions.  Was he really going to do this?  Was she pushing him into something he didn’t truly want?  Merlin, she wanted to hear it so bad, but not if he was only doing it due to stress.  What would she say if he did ask?  Was this too soon? 

When he spoke, his voice was soft, but nervous, wobbly, nearly drowned out by the crickets in the nearby meadow, but he puts his lips along her right cheek.  “No more wasting time, Hermione.”  He kissed her lips and moved back, his forehead tipped to hers.  Her mouth dropped open, needing more air, her hands threaded through his hair, eyes closed, their bodies melded into one.  Nothing but their heartbeats filled the still, night air.   

He whispered.  “Marry me, Hermione.”  So soft, even the breeze couldn’t have been more docile.  She knew she’d heard it, but her ears lied to her and she waited, hoping the breeze would repeat itself. 

His lips slid to her ear, as if answering her need.  “Marry me, please.”  Another kiss landed on her neck, then softly trailed across her collarbone and finally he kissed the top swell of her breast and pulled back, looking up at her, patient, hopeful.  “You don’t have to answer right now.  I-I just needed to ask.” 

It took her a full ten seconds to form a cohesive thought.  The way he looked at her, it left no room for thought, only emotions.  It was such an important moment and she wanted to say the right thing.  That seemed silly for the right thing was blatantly obvious.  One simple word was all he wanted. 

“Dessert’s ready!” cried a voice from the kitchen, followed by a broken “Ron come in…”  

Ginny looked out the window and saw him on his knees with Hermione wrapped in his arms.  Hermione couldn’t help but look up when she heard Ginny giggling and then a second later Harry flew into view, tugged to the window by his sleeve, and both of them were smiling at them. 

Ginny’s announcement broke them from the embrace and Ron got up and offered his hand to her.  He was moving.  But wait.  Wasn’t there something she needed to say?  Pulling her along, he smiled and said, “let me know when you decide.”  How could he be so casual?  How could he walk away? 

_Oh, no you don’t!_

She yanked him back before he could reach the door.  “I decided years ago.  Yes, Ronald.  Yes, yes, yes a thousand times over!” 

“Really?”  Lifting her off the ground, his face broke into the widest smile she had ever seen. 

She nodded frantically and pressed her lips against his.  Her feet dangled as he kissed her there on the walk.  Setting her back on the ground, he kept hugging her and mumbling, “I can’t believe it.” 

Ginny’s continued giggling meant she had either heard the conversation or, at minimum, seen them going at it.  Hermione slipped her hands between them and separated herself. 

“Ron, one thing.  I don’t want to spoil Harry and Ginny’s announcement this evening.  So, can we keep this between us for just a little while?” 

“Sure.  Can I tell myself though?  I’m not sure I believe it yet.  I might need some convincing.” 

“I’ll convince you later,” she grinned, smoothing her palm along his cheek. 

“You are a saucy little vixen, aren’t you?” 

“You started it,” she laughed, swatting him playfully. “They’re gonna figure it out.  I look like the kid who won the biggest prize at the fair!  And you…” he cupped her cheeks and kissed her again. 

Turning to the back door, Hermione rolled her lips together, trying to decompress her aching cheeks from the smile that had taken over.  Ron opened the door for her, his happiness radiating like the sun on the equinox.  If someone didn’t notice, they were all truly blind. 

The walk through the kitchen seemed to take forever as Ron kept grabbing her every two feet with another expectant question.   

“Do you want to move in with me?” 

“Maybe,” she smiled. 

One step, another hand gripping her arm.  “Should we look for a flat in Muggle London?” 

“Ron…we’ll discuss…” 

“Alright…yeah.  Oh…” he stopped her again, his forehead creased “I don’t have a ring for you.  I’m sorry.  I should have planned…” 

“I know, Ronald.  It’s alright, love.  Let’s just go and celebrate Harry and Ginny’s moment.  I promise we’ll take care of everything later.” 

This time she didn’t even manage a step before he pulled her back, his eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed.  “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.”  That seemed to satisfy Ron’s heart and he let go of her. 

Walking into the room, Molly was pouring tea and Ginny slicing pieces of some kind of lemon cake onto plates.  With a sudden gentlemanly aire, Ron pulled a chair out for Hermione and she sat down next to her mother.  He took the one on the other side, his hand wrapping around hers firmly underneath the table.  Despite her own request for restraint, she had an overwhelming urge to tell her mother, to tell anyone that would listen and her cheeks just wouldn’t stay down.  Her heart was screaming with joy!  Suddenly, Harry got up and took the knife from Ginny, setting it on the edge of the platter. 

“Um…I’d like to make a toast.” 

The crowd all reached for their glasses, waiting expectantly for Harry.  Ginny’s eyes were glued to him, bright, happy, obviously wondering how he was going to tell them. 

Harry lifted his own glass.  “This has been one hell of a day, but we have so much to be thankful for.”  Arthur nodded and Hermione wondered if he was catching on.  “We have our Hermione back amongst the living.” 

“Here, here!” shouted Ron, a little overzealous, but it raised a chuckle. 

“And Ron is…” Harry tossed a quick, knowing glance before finishing his statement “…on the mend.” 

“Thanks, mate,” Ron added, giving his glass a nod, both for the best wishes and for not spilling the beans. 

“But I’m particularly grateful for my Ginny.”  He turned toward her, glass raised.  “So, here’s to my future wife!” 

“Wife?” Molly yelled, her face dropping a degree in color.  Ginny nodded at her in confirmation, wiggling her up-until-now carefully guarded ring finger and Molly yelled again.  “Wife!”  She bolted out of the chair.  “Oh, my goodness!”  Molly had her daughter and future son-in-law wrapped in an embrace before the rest of the room had a chance to even move. 

“Congratulations!”  Arthur and Mrs. Granger stood up and joined them a second later, hugs and kisses passed around aplenty. 

Ron kept squeezing Hermione’s hand and smiling at her.  If his chest puffed up much more, he might explode.  Hermione managed to release her hand and took over the cake cutting duties, only to give her something to do, to keep her mind off the fact she wanted to giggle and dance around the room.  Dessert was filled with wedding discussions and painfully happy cheeks.  Ron even went so far as to eat left handed so he could keep his right one in hers.  At least their playful banter and pink cheeks fit in with the rest of the guests.  Molly insisted on throwing an engagement party for them the following weekend and inviting all the family and then some. 

Hermione couldn’t help but smile knowing Molly was truly in her element when it came to party planning.  It was nice to think she’d be giving this family-oriented woman another thing to celebrate very soon.  Could she make through a week without letting it slip? 

Ron didn’t want to leave her side, but she finally convinced him to take Harry into the other room and play some chess so that she, Ginny and Arthur could finish the dishes.  Molly had enveloped Mrs. Granger in a discussion of colors and floral choices for the summer months.  She realized it was so nice to see her mother and future mother-in-law getting along so well. 

Ginny and Hermione floated the dishes back to their spot on the top shelf.  Arthur folded his damp towel and draped it over the oven handle before walking over to them.  Each girl received an arm wrapped around them.  “Congratulations, Gin-gin.”  He kissed her on the cheek. 

“Thanks, Dad.” 

Arthur turned his attention to Hermione.  “You know, I have six sons, no, make that seven now and with Fleur, two daughters, but I’d sure like to try and even the count.”  He winked at her and smiled, leaning down closer to her ear.  “I hope you’re next.” 

Her chest tightened and stomach fluttered for a second.  Had he heard something?  She thought back, certain Arthur was in the parlor when she walked outside.  Was she smiling as big as she thought?  A permanent cramp had settled into her facial muscles, but she struggled to keep them under control.  Arthur stepped back and whistled, waltzing back into the parlor.   

“You going to tell soon?” Ginny asked, her eyes following her father’s exit. 

“Tell what?” Hermione asked, trying her best to look innocent despite being mortified that Ginny may have already heard.  

“I saw Ron on his knees out there.”

 

“Oh, that…” she quickly scrambled for an explanation “…that was just…he was just…”

 

“Proposing.  Admit it, Hermione.  I know my brother and I know what I saw.”

 

“Ginny…I”

 

“I knew it!”  Ginny threw her arms around Hermione.

 

Hermione couldn’t help but confirm it with her smile, but she quickly spoke in a hushed voice, “We didn’t want to spoil your announcement.  This was _your_ evening.”

 

“Nonsense.  We can celebrate together.”

 

“I think we’d prefer to wait.”  Another wave washed over her, the canaries returning to their nest in her stomach and it must have been pretty noticeable.

 

“What’s wrong?”  Ginny’s expression turned serious.

 

“Nothing.  I think it’s just the stress from everything.  I’m feeling so nauseous today.”

 

“You’re sure it’s just stress?” Ginny eyed her, clued in to the obvious.

 

“Yes, Ginny.  At least I think so,” she leaned against the counter, her hand resting lightly on her stomach.

 

“Hermione…” Ginny approached.  “…are you late?” she asked, putting a supportive hand on her arm.

 

Hermione licked her lips.  “Just a day or two.  Besides, it’s way too early for me to be having any kind of…you know.”

 

“It’s called morning sickness.”

 

“It’s not that.  I’m sure it’ll show up soon.”

 

“And if it doesn’t?”

 

“It will,” she insisted.

 

“You should tell Ron, just in case.”

 

“I’m not going to worry him with that right now.  It’s nothing.  Stress.  Woman can often skip cycles when they’re under a lot of stress.  Plus, I had all that weight loss and…”

 

“’Mione!” Ron’s panicked voiced shouted from the other room.  Both women took off at a run, drawing their wands and bolting through the dining room and into the parlor.  

 

Ron looked numb with fright.  “What in the world, son?” asked Arthur as Harry stared at his chess partner in wonder.  Molly and Mrs. Granger appeared in the other door, equally shocked by Ron’s cry.

 

“What’s wrong?” demanded Molly.

 

Ron turned toward Hermione.  His face full of light, hopeful and yet terrified.  “’Mione, the knight moved.”

 

“Well, of course it moved, Ronald,” Molly chided.  “For heaven’s sake!  You scared me to death all around a silly game of wizard’s chess.”

 

“Are you sure?” Hermione replied excitedly, overlapping Molly’s rebuke.

 

Ron nodded.  “Give me a wand,” he looked to Harry.

 

“What are you talking about?  Where’s your own wand?” Molly asked, disciplinary angst flashing in her eyes.  Arthur appeared equally confused as Harry pulled the wand from his pocket and handed it to his friend, his own hopeful expression in place.  Ron’s eyes shot back to Hermione as if asking permission or encouragement.

 

“Go ahead, Ron.  Give it a try.”

 

Hermione mouthed ‘swish and flick’ just as Ron went through the motions, crossing all her fingers and toes that the tiny knight on the horse would float or even just move.  She knew Ron was holding his breath, all his concentration on the carved piece of wood, his lip pulled tightly under his teeth.

 

“Ronald…wha…” Ginny put a halting hand on Molly’s arm, silencing her with a ‘shh’

 

And then, it twitched.  The base wobbled and it rose, only a centimeter or two, but it definitely floated and then crashed back onto its side.  Ron started panting, almost as if he were going to burst out into tears.  Resting the wand gently on the chess board, he turned his emotional face toward her, a lifetime’s worth of emptiness and sorrow evaporating from his shiny blue eyes.  Hermione’s heart exploded with devastating happiness and she launched herself at him, taking out the table and chair in the process.  Assorted chess pieces flew everywhere as Hermione tackled him to the carpet, laughing and kissing him excitedly.  Ron joined her with his own full-out belly laugh.  

 

“It’s back!”  He kicked his legs excitedly, jiggling her along in the process as they danced horizontally on the carpet.  “Whoo hoo!  ‘Mione, it’s back!  Oh, I love you!”

 

“I love you, too!”  He rolled her over, pinning her to the floor with his weight, and continued plying her with kisses until she was dizzy from the barrage.  It didn’t matter who was watching or what they thought.  Even her queasy stomach stopped annoying her for those few precious moments.  She was beyond the limits of bashfulness, only concerned with sharing this spectacular moment with the man who meant more to her than anything.

 

Ginny clapped her hands excitedly and ran to help Harry up who had tipped back onto the floor when Hermione attacked.

 

“What is going on?” Molly wailed, truly exasperated at the antics in her parlor.  “Ronald, get off that girl!  This isn’t a brothel!”  Arthur frowned, still silent, confused and patiently waiting for the explanation.  

 

“Mum…” Ginny jumped in and Harry uprighted his chair, “…give them a minute, alright?  This is important.”  She walked over to her mother, taking her arm.  

 

“Important?”

 

“Dad, come here.  I need to speak to you and mum in the other room.”  Ginny tugged on her mother’s sleeve as Arthur tip-toed around the display of affection still smooching on the floor as if grossly enthralled in the antics of a renegade octopus.

 

Hermione was too occupied to really notice, but she suspected that Ginny explained Ron’s missing skills because Molly’s voice bellowed from the other room.  “He WHAT?”

 

Ron paused, his face still coated with happiness, but his eyes wide at the sound of his mother’s scream.  “Oh, oh.  I might have some explaining to do.”

 

Hermione smiled back.  “I hope Ginny doesn’t give too many details.”

 

“RONALD WEASLEY!”  Molly bellowed.

 

“I’m going to kill Ginny,” he added, still grinning.  “Save me, Hermione!” he joked in a high squeaky voice, his eyes twinkling so bright, she thought the sky had exploded.  She had never laughed this joyfully or felt such euphoric rapture in her whole life

 

Ron’s kisses were life changing and for a few seconds she ignored the rest of the world, but then he yelped in pain, his hands clutching at his ears.  “Mum!  Ow, ow!”

 

*** 

  _One Week Later_  

John studied the criss-cross of dark gray metal that supported the thin mattress above him.  He’d only been here a week and had already memorized every nick, dent or anomaly along the underbelly of the upper bunk.  Only in his dreams did the monotonous pattern take on a different view.  At first, he slept as much as possible, for in his sleep he could transport himself to any locale he wished, anywhere but the block of concrete and metal that had become his home.

 

His attorney had argued his need for a mental evaluation.  John didn’t agree, but between his attorney’s conviction that this was his best hope for an early release, and Diane’s pleading with him to get help, he’d gone along with the plan.  Still, it annoyed him to no end that some suit with a certificate attached to his wall could march in, ask him a few irrelevant questions about his mother and slap a label of him.  He wasn’t insane.

 

However, he had to admit that the new bloke, the one he saw almost every day now, had a few good points.  His visits sometimes bordered on painfully verbose and others times he walked away with his eyes opened to something he hadn’t considered before.  Perhaps Diane was right.  Maybe talking to someone like this could actually be helpful.

 

This morning’s visit from his attorney brought with it the news that they had finally found a spot for him in a facility that would provide a bit more comfort and a bit less of the strict militarism of this prison.  He was hoping that Diane’s testimony might convince the judge to move him.

 

Besides his attorney, the blonde had been his only visitor.  She even skipped a couple of business trips to come and see him.  Her eyes still pulled him in whenever he saw her.  He’d given up trying to figure out why, but there was something about her that made him want to try and improve.  He still missed Hermione, but for an entirely different reason.  After talking with this doctor for the past week, a microscopic idea had been implanted in his head – just a suggestion that his mother’s impact on him might have been more meaningful than he realized.  The doctor gave several names for it:  Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Histrionic Personality Disorder and some other terms that he couldn’t spell and didn’t want to. 

 

The mumble of voices from the surrounding cells echoed against the concrete walls, the heels of the guards clicked against the floor as they made rounds, but then another set of footsteps moving faster broke the monotony.  He heard the guard call out his cell number and the heavy clanking of the lock tripping on his door drew him out of his cot.

 

“Mr. Rasmussen, you have a visitor.  Please step out.”

 

He did and went through the usual routine of being searched.  All modesty had evaporated in the first few days of his incarceration.  Following protocol, he walked the yellow line toward the gates that would open into the corridors leading to the visitor’s wing.  He perked up, happy to see Diane again and walked over to the chair in the center cube.

 

But it wasn’t Diane.  Through the glass, it was Hermione’s face he saw.  Shocked, he rearranged his inner monologue for a new and fully unexpected conversation.  

 

“Hermione!”  She looked good.  Healthy.  Strikingly like his mother.  It gave him chills just to look at her again.

 

“Hello, John.”

 

The guard standing behind Hermione moved aside revealing the red-haired thorn in his side, arms crossed over his chest just twenty feet behind her.  It figured.

 

“I see you brought your body guard,” he tossed his head at Ron’s figure.

 

“No, my fiancé accompanied me here today.”

 

“Fiance?  Well, you move fast.  Guess I wasn’t your type after all.”

 

“You guessed right.”  She looked cold.

 

“So, why are you here?  Missed me?” he quipped.

 

“Hardly.”

 

“Well, whatever the reason, I appreciate it.  God damn boring in here.”  He watched for her reaction, but her face remained a blank sheet.  Why was she here?  It made no sense.  He had to admit he was curious – about a lot of things.  “So, how’s the you know…genie in a bottle stuff.”

 

“Good.  So is Ron.  One hundred percent.”

 

He recognized the assurance in her voice, almost more a threat or maybe she meant it as a taunt – her way of letting him know that he might have won a battle, but she won the war.

 

“You know they took all my experiments.”

 

“Yes, I know.  You do realize that it was all illegal and had deadly consequences?”

 

“Yeah, I heard.  Diane told me that Arty has it bad and that it’s all my fault.”  The truth of that revelation still stung, though not as severely as it could have.  He couldn’t help flickering a glance in Hermione’s direction, wondering her thoughts on the subject.  “It’s not like I planned on making all those people sick.”

 

“Maybe not, but you should have known better.  You were studying medicine.”

 

“Not really…I was researching a way to kill my father.”

 

She didn’t reply.  Maybe that scared her.  Hell, it scared him the first time he realized it.

 

“Where _is_ your father?”

 

“I’m not really sure.  When I _could_ I moved away and cut off all ties with him.  I heard through an uncle that he’s living in a little cottage, still putting up a front, pretending to be a human being at the office.”  He smirked, a chuckle.  “You know, even after being away from him this long, I still hate him.  Of course, after meeting Arty, my father almost looks like a candidate for sainthood.”

 

“I still can’t believe you testified against him.”

 

“He was a monster.  Insane.  You should have seen the dungeon he had in the basement of his house.  If I hadn’t done something, Diane would have been raped or worse.”

 

For the first time he actually saw emotion creeping onto Hermione’s face.  “But you did nothing when he threatened to rape _me_ , dragged me around the flat by my hair, paralyzed me.  You didn’t care as long as you got your precious blood samples.”  She appeared to be fighting a flood that was washing over her eyes.

 

John was stunned.  He had no idea.  “I-I didn’t know he did those things.”

 

“You didn’t care.  You have the same violent tendencies, why should I think otherwise?  You knew he was mean.”

 

“I knew he was a bit overzealous, maybe eccentric in a creepy sort of way, but I never knew he threatened you like that.  Although, looking back at the way he treated Diane, I’m not surprised he did it.”

 

“And what about you?”  Her question held a certain finality – the entire reason for her visit.  It was also blatantly open-ended.  What about himself?  What was she looking for?  An explanation?  He didn’t really have one.  An admission?  

 

“Me?  Well, that’s still to be understood.  I’ve done a lot of things in my life that seemed to not make sense.  They made sense at the time I did them, but now I have to question my logic.  I don’t know, maybe I was just a stupid kid, maybe a bit too gullible.”  He met her eyes.  “I just wanted to be special, you know?”

 

Hermione’s focus left him, drifting into her own thoughts.  Ron’s arms dropped – John noticed in his peripheral vision.  He couldn’t clearly hear him, but Ron said something to her and managed one step toward Hermione before she raised a halting hand in his direction.

 

“John, we all want to be special.  Every little child grows up with ambitions.  Most of us work really hard to achieve something special in our lives.  It’s important.  It define us, describes to the world why we’re here.  And then, there are a few of us, the unlucky ones, that have all ambition stripped away from them.”  John’s head tipped down, realizing how what she said directly described him.  “It doesn’t feel good, does it?”

 

“No.”

 

“It’s hard to get it back once you’ve lost it.  That’s something I’m learning first hand.”

 

“You?”  Then he realized that her explanation hadn’t been a description of him, it was a description of her.  They weren’t so different after all.  “I’m sorry, Hermione.”  He looked up, forcing himself to meet her eyes.  His mother’s eyes.  It was uncomfortable.  He owed her an apology as well.  “I’m really sorry.”

 

Her mouth sort of twisted as her eyes glazed over with moisture.  She nodded and got up, grabbing her purse and walking away.

 

Was that what she wanted?  An apology?  He hadn’t planned on offering it up, but as she walked away, he realized he felt good giving it to her.  “I’m sorry, mum.”

 

Ron shot him a glare that made his jaw hurt, but he brushed it off and pushed back from his chair.

 

*** 

 

Parker had truly infused the department with energy.  His connections brought access to several specialists and some journals that had yet to be published to the magical healer audience.  All of her associates worked with enthusiasm now that they had a clue to work from.  Miranda had whittled away at Dottie until she discovered their wealthy benefactor’s name.  Of course, the fact that Ginny now sported a sparkling diamond on her left hand, meant she got twice the amount of attention from the hospital administrators and staff.  Her friends in the department had started jokingly calling it the ‘Ginny Potter Memorial Research Wing.’

 

It was a bit annoying, having all these ‘suits’ sucking up to her constantly, but she had to admit, it provided a good laugh for the staff.  Just a day before, they had figured out a way to reduce the magical cell count, but it was not enough to make an impact on anyone already suffering from the virus.  Still, it was a start in the right direction and the entire staff felt rejuvenated and excited at making some strides towards a cure.

 

Ginny yawned and stretched.  She’d put in a long day and her eyes were starting to blur as she examined the latest results.  Rubbing her face, she didn’t notice the tall man entering the room.

 

“Excuse me, I’m looking for Ginny Weasley.”

 

She looked up just in time to see Miranda pointing in her direction and then she recognized the young man in the dark red robes.  “Hi.  Um…sorry, I don’t remember your name.”  It was the guard that had escorted her on her visit to see Carrow at the prison.

 

“It’s Mason, ma’am.”

 

“Is that your first name or is there a title that goes with that?” she smiled.

 

“It’s my last name, but you can just call me Mason.”  She nodded.  “Could I speak with you in private for a moment?”

 

“Sure.”  She gestured toward Miranda’s small office with the glass door.  They stepped in and closed the door.  “What can I do for you?”

 

“Ms. Weasley, I’ve been sent by the Detention Wing Supervisor.  It seems that the Carrow inmate has asked to see you.”

 

“Me?  Why?”

 

“He’s very sick, ma’am.  We had to transport him to St. Mungo’s this morning.  This virus is pulling him down quickly.  The healers told us that he may not have long to live.  I think Carrow is really scared.  He was talking all tough and vulgar until yesterday and now he’s…well, he’s just pathetic looking.  He’s been asking for you, keeps saying he wants you to strip his magic and we finally thought that we should track you down.”

 

“But he was supposed to be stripped as part of his sentencing, right?”

 

“Yes, ma’am, but his attorney appealed.  So, we’ve been waiting.”

 

“I already told him that this virus could kill him, but he didn’t care.”  Her fists landed on her hips.

 

“I realize that.  He was a real bastard with you that day.  So, I completely understand if you don’t want to see him, but I was ordered to come and ask if you would.”

 

Ginny paced for a second, brushing back the hair that had fallen out of her ponytail over the course of the day.  The prospect of talking to this vile man was not a pleasant one and she was inclined to just refuse.  But somehow, her sense of duty urged her to go.  “Yeah…alright.  I’ll go.”

 

Within minutes she had cleaned up her work from the day and Mason escorted her to the lifts, up one floor and down the hallway leading to the quarantine area.  Two other burgundy robed men flanked a doorway ahead on the right and Mason gestured ladies first as he pressed the door open for her.

 

“Um…are their precautions being taken here?”

 

“Oh, yes, ma’am.  There’s another set of doors and a shield up.  We told them to use personnel that weren’t pure-blood.  You won’t be allowed in the same airspace with him.”

 

“Good.  Glad someone was listening.”  She stepped in, shocked to find Harry waiting, his arms crossed over his chest.  “Harry!  What are you doing here?”  She jogged over and kissed him.

 

“Mason called me.  I guess I’m here to do your dirty work.”

 

“Excuse me?” she asked, flashing a look at Mason.

 

“If Carrow really wants to be stripped of his magic, then a Ministry official has to do it as part of his sentencing and it has to be a non-pure-blood, _and_ I’m one of only three people that knows the actual motion of the spell.  I’ve actually seen it performed.  Plus, you need a witness.  Besides, I’m not letting you get near him again.”

 

“A little protective, are we?” she smirked.

 

“Damn right,” his eyes sparkled. “I don’t take chances with my wife.”

 

“Not quite yet, Mr. Potter.”

 

He walked up and kissed her lightly.  “Soon enough, Ms. Weasley.”

 

A nurse walked out of the room, glanced at the two of them with a subtle grin and addressed Ginny.  “There are masks right there.  I suggest you put on a gown as well.  I’ve reset the shield spell.  You can get to within about four feet of the bed.  He’s too weak to move, his kidney’s are failing and he has a one hundred four degree temperature.”

 

“Just so you are aware, if we strip his magic, it’s still possible he might die, but being that he’s pure-blood, his chances are better than most.”

 

The nurse nodded.  “I understand.  Please be careful.”

 

Harry was already holding the gown out for her.  His expression meant he wasn’t willing to take any chances and soon he had her completely covered, heat to foot.  Opening the door, they both slipped in and approached the bed slowly, checking the distance as they went.  Harry hung back as Ginny stepped closer.

 

Was this even a living human being lying on the bed?  It looked like a corpse.  She’d never seen so many bones before in her life.  If he had any muscles left, they had shrunk down to nothing.  His black hair shined with moisture from the fever that seemed to wrack his body.

 

“Mr. Carrow?”

 

He barely turned his head, his lifeless eyes moving in her direction, but she wasn’t sure if he could actually focus on her.  

 

“You wanted to see me?”

 

“You win,” he rasped.  

 

“You need to be clear, Mr. Carrow.  What is it that you want from me?”

 

“I want to live.  Take my magic if you have to.”

 

Ginny turned to Harry, hoping he had heard Carrow’s request.  Harry frowned and nodded.  She knew that despite their hatred for this man, Harry wasn’t the type that took this task lightly.  She’d probably have to deal with his troubled conscience tonight.  “Alright, Mr. Carrow.”

 

Turning to go, she heard a grunt and stopped.  

 

“Wait.”

 

Pivoting back, she looked at him, waiting for him to reply.

 

“Aren’t you going to do it?”

 

“No, Mr. Potter is the duly authorized representative of the Ministry and he will perform the spell.”

 

“Oh, fuck,” he rasped.  Ginny tried not to smile, but the irony was just so sweet.  He’d started out this path wanting to strip his enemy, get revenge and in the end, his enemy was about to take from him his most valuable asset.  She couldn’t even feel angry at the man, he was just too pitiful.  Walking through the door, Mason passed her, entering the room, but remaining near the door.  She watched through the glass as Harry dropped the shield, stepped up, said something to him and then waved his wand.  There wasn’t any noticeable change in Carrow’s appearance, although he seemed to say something.  She didn’t really expect any big change, but somehow she felt cheated at not seeing him writhe in agony or scream in pain.  After all, he deserved it.

 

Harry restored the shield and returned to her side, only two words.  “It’s done.”

 

“What did you say to him?” Ginny asked.

 

Harry rattled off the prepared speech.  “As a duly authorized representative of the Ministry of Magic, I am here to impose the sentence that was handed down from the Wizengamot that you, Artimus Carrow are to be stripped of your magic.”

 

“And what did he say?”

 

Mason replied this time.  “F you.”

 

“Figures.”  Ginny stripped off the robes and soon Harry was walking with her down the hallway.  “I’m really surprised he agreed to that.”

 

“Even dark bastards have a will to live,” Harry replied, pushing the button on the lift.  “I need to get back to the office, but I’ll be home soon.”

 

Ginny smiled and raised up on tip-toe to kiss him.  “Don’t forget we promised to help Hermione move some of her things tonight.”

 

“Oh, yeah.  Alright.  Maybe we can hit the pub for a little while afterwards?”

 

“Well, don’t get too pissed or I won’t have any fun later tonight.”

 

Harry raised a brow, the corner of his mouth pulling up to match.  “Later tonight?  Is that a promise?”

 

The lift opened, she kissed him, winked and walked in, turning to wave her fingers at him as the doors closed.

 

*** 

 

Ron straightened up the remaining stack of documents.  At least he’d made a sizable dent in the past week.  The backlog of work had been enormous.  Between he and Hermione working overtime to catch up, they had barely seen each other at home.  Of course, the perks of having her office just twenty feet away meant he saw a lot of her during the work day.  Then again, having a perpetual hard-on made certain duties a bit uncomfortable.  

 

It wasn’t his fault.  She had to walk past him a hundred times a day, intentionally wafting her intoxicating scent in his direction.  Then she’d stop by to ask him questions or get approvals and he’d have to tie down another rush of erotic impulses.  At first he took advantage of the fact that she had a door on her office, frequently visiting her to ‘discuss’ something important and sneak in a few kisses or a quick grope.  Then Harry had to spoil all his fun by reminding him that the ministry was monitored in a lot of areas and he should be careful.  He had a feeling that Harry was speaking from some kind of personal experience, but honestly, he didn’t want to know as it would surely involve his sister.

 

Tonight, however, was a big night.  Miraculously released from her rental contract, Hermione was going to move her first set of clothing into his flat tonight.  They had discussed various options for a couple of days before Hermione went to her landlord with the request.  Her security deposit was forfeited, but John paid most of that anyway and with him in prison, he wouldn’t be needing it.  Ron spent the past several nights, cleaning, moving things to make room for her belongings.  She brought a few boxes and some paperwork over the night before.  He felt as if he and his sister had swapped places; his mother’s scrutinizing glare would move to him after the display at the Burrow.  They had informed their parents of the engagement, but Molly’s somewhat Puritan views still frowned on cohabitation before marriage and he just didn’t have the guts to tell her about the latest decision.

 

Possibly due to his mother’s impending visits or maybe just some unlikely set of morals involving female guests, Ron cleared out the second bedroom.  Something told him it was the right thing to do.  He tried to ignore his own desires and expectations that Hermione would sleep in his bed.  Yes, she’d slept with him at Harry’s for a few nights, but many times that was born of necessity, he was sick, she was sick, something was wrong with one of them.  He didn’t want to make assumptions about her and blow this whole arrangement before he even got the ring on her finger.  Until she actually chose those sleeping arrangements, he was going to prepare a space that was just for her.  Besides, that might ease his mother’s wrath should she show up and discover his new ‘roommate.’

 

Hermione was in a meeting so he didn’t get the chance to talk to her before he left.  Maybe he would help move the boxes of books from the night before into her room, get that settled.  She might like a butterbeer when she got home, or maybe he should stop and get a bottle of wine.  It seemed that all his actions lately were centered around her.  Harry even noticed it and said something a few days before.  They were in the honeymoon stage, as Harry explained it, even before having an actual honeymoon!  He told him that he was the same way when he and Ginny finally clicked, but that eventually things would settle down and they would find themselves gloriously happy without being obsessed with each other’s every movement.  Ron wasn’t sure he wanted to settle for just gloriously happy.  

 

Deciding to walk home as usual, it felt good to be back in his old routine.  It used to be that walking was a way to release his anger, now it was a bad case of lust that needed time to evaporate.  Like that would ever happen!  They hadn’t been ‘together’ in a week.  The evening he proposed, Mrs. Granger wanted Hermione to come home with her and see her father.  He’d been away on business and was very concerned about her.  Hermione couldn’t turn her down.  Then she worked late and came home with a splitting headache after dealing with Lola the next night.  He got called out on surveillance – the bad guys didn’t stop just because he did -  the next two nights.  And then, on Thursday, when they were finally alone and starting to escalate past fevered kisses, his mum Floo called for a visit.

 

There was a certain degree of truth to that saying about ‘creating a monster’ because now that Ron had tasted the thrill of being with her, he wanted it more than anything.  And he wanted it all the time.  He wasn’t sure if Hermione suffered with the same lustful cravings – it seemed very unladylike, if you asked him.  But, there was a certain gleam in her eye that made him believe she was thinking about it, too.  It was the twenty first century, young unmarried couples had sex all the time, right?  It wasn’t unusual, nothing to be ashamed of.  So, if that was the case, then why had Ron set up that other bedroom?  Was that truly for the benefit of his mother?  Or, maybe it was the remnant of a family gene passed down from older, more prudent and proper Victorian times.  He had to admit, that a certain marital desire existed within him.  A sense of wanting to belong to something bigger than just yourself, to stand in front of the preacher and promise Hermione that he was hers and hers alone.  Then it felt wholly right to be together.  Then they could shag until they were sated.  Just thinking about it gave him a stiffy.

 

At first, he tried to restore order with cold showers and internal discussions about the value of taking things slow, but by day three he was sure that certain parts of his anatomy were so backed up that he might damage something internally were he to wait much longer.  The memory of that second time together, the way it felt to just give himself over to her – he couldn’t get it out of his mind.  Not that he expected every time with her to be quite so mind-blowing, but it certainly was hard to not want to try.  Until then, he had to take things into hand himself.  That reminded him, he needed to scrub down the shower really well before she got home.

 

Stepping into his flat, he checked the time and then changed out of his Auror attire and into some soft, faded denims.  They were still just a little bit loose, hanging lower on his hips – a result of his recent weight loss that hadn’t completely reversed.  Sunday’s engagement party for Harry and Ginny would probably plump him up to normal size.  Striding back into the living area, he examined the stack of boxes and decided to move the smaller ones first.  Lifting several into his arms, he was struggling to see the way in front of him as he navigated the path around the sofa.  Turning the corner, the top box slid across the stack and toppled off, sheets and sheets of papers and parchment floating to the floor.

 

Grunting at his own stupidity, he set the other boxes down and started to gather them up again.  Receipts, statements from previously paid bills and photographs littered his floor and he stacked them up, placing them carefully back in the box.  His eyes caught on an envelope, the title jumping out at him ‘Last Will and Testament’ and he stared at it for a moment.  

 

“Hermione has a will?  That’s right, she mentioned something about writing one.”  

 

He flipped it over casually, only realizing why he had done so a second later.  It wasn’t sealed, the flap just tucked inside.  

 

“This is private, Ron,” he admonished himself for his own voyeuristic thoughts.  She might have written this years ago, before she went to school, after they’d split so why did he want to know what it said?   But, they were engaged now, right?  They were going to share everything.  He’d find out soon anyway, why not just take a quick peak?

 

Checking the door for any surprise visitors, Ron slumped down on the far side of the sofa, resting against its arm as he pulled the flap free and slid the document out.  He swallowed a lump of ‘you shouldn’t be doing this’ down his throat and started to read.  It only took a couple of sentences to realize that she had written this just weeks before, at her absolute lowest point.  The pain in her words struck at him as she described her affection for Harry.  Ron’s future brother-in-law would always be just as important to Hermione as he was to Ron.

 

Then he saw his own full name and stopped breathing for a quick second.  These were words that he wasn’t meant to see until she was gone.  If she were to ever tell him the absolute truth behind her feelings, this would be it.  It was like a disciple reading the bible before it was published and then heading out for the last supper already knowing what was to be said.

 

His eyes skimmed over it, his lips mumbling along.  “…all you ever wanted from me was my love…sorry that I never realized it in time to show you that you’ve always had it.  Oh, ‘Mione.”  He kept reading and suddenly discovered his throat closing up.  She loved him, long before all this mess, years ago, even when she thought he was betrothed to Diane, she still loved him.  If he ever had even a miniscule doubt of her true feelings, this washed them all away.

 

Folding it back up, he stuffed it into the envelope feeling like an intruder on Hermione’s heart, a sort of anguish churning through his gut at the same time his heart soared like an eagle.  Maybe he shouldn’t have read it.  He might have to admit his error one of these days.  Wiping his eyes across the back of his sleeve, he quickly stood up and pushed the envelope and other papers back into the box, slapped on the lid and carried the contents back to the guest room.

 

Hermione arrived about an hour later, her arms full of clothing on hangers.  He realized that he was staring at her a bit too long and tried to push aside what he had read and get down to business.  Ron Apparated back to her old flat three times, bringing back bins of clothing and personal items.  He made sure she knew that the guest room was ready for her, but he didn’t look where she was depositing her things.  Deciding patience was the best course, he figured he’d find out when he went to bed that evening and the chips would fall as they may.

 

Harry and Ginny arrived a bit later, inviting them to join them at the pub for some dinner.  Hermione and Ron were so exhausted that dinner out sounded like a grand idea.  A small band was set up in the corner, alternating lively tunes with relaxing ballads.  A few people were dancing, most tapping their foot while sipping drinks.  

 

Sitting at the pub’s table, Ron watched her, his jaw resting in the palm of his hand as she chatted with Ginny over the neckline of wedding gowns.  He couldn’t stop thinking of those haunting words, the acknowledgement that her last thoughts on this earth would be of him.  Like a prize star plucked from the heavens, she mesmerized him, her laugh, the tiny dimples that puckered her cheeks when she smiled, the way she sneezed with a high pitch.  Then she paused, mid-sentence and made a funny face, her focus shifting away from Ginny, little lines creasing her forehead and she stood up to excuse herself to the lady’s room…oh, her walk.  The subtle sway of her hips and the way she curved into her waist, it made his mouth water.

 

He waited a few minutes, sipping the last of his butterbeer, his eyes darting to the hall that led to the restrooms.  She didn’t return.  Maybe it was just that same protective streak showing up again, but something made him want to check on her.

 

“I’ll be back,” he excused himself, leaving Harry and Ginny at the table in conversation.

 

Winding through the pub crowd, he found the back hallway that led to the restrooms and he waited, trying not to be too over-reactive.  Other women pushed past, some tossing him a curious stare, others more flirtatious in their encounter.  A few stopped as if recognizing him and indeed some worked with him and just waved or said hello.  A second later, Hermione stepped out and approached him.

 

“You waiting for something?” she asked, probably curious as to why he was perched in the hallway like this.

 

“Just waiting for you.”  His head tilted subtly, examining her face for that same quirky expression she had shown at the table. 

 

“Oh…um…well, here I am!” she smiled, shrugging.  Something wasn’t right, but he didn’t know what.

 

“Will you come and dance with me?”

 

“Sure.”

 

He just needed to be near her for a little while, to soak up all the love that seemed to be flowing out of her.  Luckily, the last song had been fast and the band was slowing it down.  He held out his hand and pulled her to the small patch of wood that was acting as a dance floor.  She stepped up to him, close, but still appropriate for public appearances.  But he wanted her closer and at this point, he didn’t care about anyone else’s opinion.  So, giving up on the stiff and proper standard for dance, Ron lifted her into his arms, holding her close.

 

“Ron!” she squeaked, her feet no longer on the floor.  “What are you doing?”

 

“I’ve missed you this week.”

 

“I missed you, too,” she whispered.

 

“I thought that being engaged meant we’d see each other more.”

 

“Yeah, this has been a long week.  Do you mind putting me down?”

 

His arms squeezed her in reply.  “Sure.”  Something was definitely off.  Her voice sounded a bit rocky.  Setting her back on the floor, she leaned into him as if needing comforting.

 

“Is something wrong, Hermione?” he asked, stroking her back as they swayed to the music.

 

“No.  I just…” she stopped and he felt her tense against him.  “It’s nothing.”

 

But he knew it was something and kept up his questioning.  “Is it the flat?  Are you having second thoughts about moving in with me?”

 

She drew back and looked him in the eye. “No.”  Just as quickly, she returned her head to its resting place on his chest.  “I can’t wait to get out of that place.  Too many bad memories.”

 

They continued to sway, but Hermione didn’t speak and Ron’s curiosity pinged him again.  “Is your room alright?”

 

“It’s lovely, Ron.  I’m sure I’ll be very comfortable in there.”

 

What did that mean?  She liked it and intended to stay in it?  Or did he hear a bit of sarcasm in that response?  Was she somehow hurt that he hadn’t moved her right into his room?

  _Oh, crap.  Did I screw up again? Now she’ll think I don’t want her in my bed!_  

Exasperated, he had to know the reason for her current behavior.  Even if he’d done something wrong.  Pushing her shoulders gently, he tried to separate them enough to see her face.  “Something’s bothering you and you’re not telling me.  Remember our agreement?”

 

She licked her lips, then rolled them into her mouth, her eyes shifting around in thought.  “It’s not you.”

 

Ron nearly sighed with relief, stroking his hands down her arms.  “Well, then what is it?”  

 

Her eyes looked sad and it was really eating at him now.  Dropping her gaze away from him again, she raised up a bit as if trying to get closer to his ear.  He leaned down to meet her.  The music covered up most conversation, but obviously she thought this was private.

 

“Do you remember when you said that it would be nice if I were pregnant and all that?”

 

Ron’s eyes grew dramatically, his blood pumping like a steam engine cresting a hill.  “Yeah?”

 

“It’s just that I was late for my cycle and…”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ron’s thoughts raced with all the possible consequences: quick wedding, house, baby strollers.

 

“I-I just got it.”  She looked totally dejected and it took him a second to comprehend her meaning.  “It just started.  So, I guess there’s nothing to worry about after all.”  But the shaky exhale said otherwise as she leaned back against him.  Ron struggled with his own emotions, just moments before standing on the precipice of something huge and now firmly back on the ground.  He couldn’t explain the sensation except that he felt robbed somehow.  More so, he was trying to understand her and the certainty that something about this bothered her more than she was letting on.

 

He ducked his head down close to her ear, his arms holding her close, the music still pulsing.  “Are you upset?”

 

She nodded her head against him.  “I shouldn’t be.  This is probably the worst time for something like this.  I should be relieved.”

 

“But you feel like you’ve been robbed.”  She hesitated, but then nodded her agreement.

 

He wrapped his arms around her tighter, cradling her head against his chest, his most precious gift.  And she wanted the same things as he did.  One day he’d be holding their child, cradling it to him in the same way.  True, this would have been bad timing and yet he couldn’t help but feel the same sense of loss.

 

“Me, too, Hermione.  Me, too.”

 

 


	30. Epilogue

  
Author's notes: My sincerest thanks to Indie for her support and invaluable beta skills.  And a HUGE thanks to all my fantastic readers!  You've truly inspired me and made writing this story so enjoyable.  Hope you like the ending.  


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Epilogue

 

  _Six Months Later_   

Diane bounded out of bed.  It was cold this morning, a thin layer of snow had fallen overnight, but the grass still poked through the tops.  Far from a winter wonderland, it just looked chilly and bleak.  However, even that couldn’t put a damper on her day.  She had an appointment to make and it was important.

 

A long discussion with her mother had been going on for weeks about the pros and cons of this particular topic.  She’d done a lot of thinking, perhaps soul searching was the correct term.  Gratitude wasn’t something to be pushed aside casually.  Her life might be very different today if John hadn’t intervened when he did and despite all his faults, she just couldn’t forget about him.  Her father insisted it was dangerous to associate with the man, but Diane felt differently.  

 

Bundling up her thickest sweater, denims, boots and long winter coat, Diane set off.  Apparating to a small café about three miles from the hospital, Diane opted to take a taxi from there and arrive in true Muggle style.  After all, this was a Muggle facility and she didn’t know how to drive an auto.  Having been told that John would be promptly released at ten am sharp, she asked the taxi driver to wait for her as she stepped out of the cab.  

 

She’d been here before so the security measures went by quickly as she identified herself and moved into the lobby area.  The red vinyl chairs sat empty, the same painting of abstract flowers hung on the wall that had been there during numerous visits before.  Having been inside this facility several times, she realized how much better it had been for him as compared to the prison.  Unbelievably, it was Hermione who got him moved.  Any animosity Diane held toward her previous rival had evaporated after the lunch they shared at a café in July.

 

It was obvious, they were both dramatically different personality types, and there was a fair share of distrust on Hermione’s part, but they had a couple things in common.  Both had experienced traumatic, life altering events and both knew John Rasmussen.  Of course, Diane’s opinions of him varied wildly from Hermione’s.  Diane never knew the manipulative side of him, the deceit and cunning he had used in dealing with Hermione.  She truly had a hard time believing it, wanting to believe that her savior came complete with halo and wings.

 

After hearing Hermione recount two months of intimidation, abuse, kidnapping and you name it, she really had a hard time looking at John the same way again.  However, both of them recognized the fact that he had some very deep seated issues about his mother and the abusive relationship with his father.  It didn’t condone his actions, but at least helped to explain them.  They talked over quiche and fruit, hot tea and pumpkin tarts, trying to not broach the sorest subject:  Ron Weasley.

 

Diane couldn’t help the fact that she felt deserving of an apology from Hermione, but she suspected that Hermione felt the same way about her.  They had both been hurt.  But, Hermione truly held the ace having been his friend for so long.  Diane may have been infatuated with the man, but after seeing the way he looked at Hermione, she realized that she held the title of intruder on the relationship, not Hermione.  The bitter truth was hard to swallow, but if she was to move on, then it was necessary.

 

Not long after that lunch, Hermione got an appointment with the judge.  Diane hadn’t been in attendance at that meeting, she’d already wielded all her influence through her father and gotten nowhere.  Within days of Hermione’s meeting, John was ordered out of prison and into a mental health facility.  It was a Muggle facility and yet, she knew that the administrators had some knowledge of things on the ‘other’ side.  John wrote to her frequently, explained how he was getting almost constant counseling.  She visited when she thought it was appropriate and then, surprisingly, he called a few days ago and said he was being released.

 

So, here she was in the waiting room, not entirely sure where to go next or what to do, but feeling obligated and concerned for the man currently collecting his wallet and watch from a lady at a counter.  When he saw her, his face lit up.  It was a genuine smile.  He looked so relaxed from when she had seen him last.

 

“Hey” he grinned walking toward her.

 

“Hi, John.”

 

“Thanks for coming.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

They stood for a moment, unsure of what to do next.  Diane wasn’t sure either, but it felt better to stay in motion.  Sitting still meant getting into deep conversations and she couldn’t help replaying Hermione’s comments in her head, glancing sideways at this man who had done such horrible things.

 

“So, um…I’m not really sure where to go next.  Is there a reasonable hotel somewhere?”

 

“I’m sure we’ll find something for you.”

 

He walked forward and pushed the door open for her.  She passed through, walking down the wide sidewalk toward the waiting taxi.  His footsteps echoed behind her and she tried to tamp down the disquiet and think positive. 

_They wouldn’t let him out if he weren’t better, right?_   

Pausing at the cab, she just couldn’t get in and leaned down to the window to address the driver.  “Give us just a minute.”  Turning back to him, she walked over to a nearby bench, just trying to give them a little privacy.  “Why did they let you out so soon?”  Yes, that was blunt, but she had to know.  Not knowing felt as if she were walking into some kind of a trap.  

 

His expression twisted – shame, maybe a bit of hurt as he thought about his response.  “You think it’s too soon?  Think I should have been in there longer?”

 

“I didn’t say that, I just want to know their reasons.”

 

“You didn’t have to come and get me, you know.”

 

“I owed it to you.”

 

“So, you’re here out of obligation only?”  He stuffed his hands in his pockets and Diane wondered if that was a deliberate move to make her more at ease.

 

“Not necessarily.”

 

“You’re scared of me.”

 

“No!” she argued.  Was she scared?  No, that had been the truth.  It wasn’t fear, but she didn’t have a name for this particular emotion.

 

“I don’t blame you.  I’ve done some pretty monstrous things.  I realize that.”  He bit his lip, looking down.

 

Diane didn’t know what to say, whether to run or hug him.  Both seemed like sensible solutions.  She opted to just stand still and wait in the cold.

 

Scuffing his shoe against the concrete, he kept his head bowed.  “I can’t explain why I did those things.  At the time they made sense, but I can see now how they didn’t.  It’s useless to make you promises, to try and convince you that I’m not going to hurt you, that I’m not the bastard that obsessed over Hermione Granger for months, using her as a human guinea pig.  I am that same person.”

 

Diane tried desperately to squelch the urge to run.

 

“But I don’t want to be.  I think that’s the difference.  I don’t know what it is about you, but seeing you makes me want to be a better person.  Before you knew about my past, when you first met me in that dungeon, you didn’t think I was a monster then, did you?”

 

She shook her head.  He was right.  She only saw him in glowing lights at the time.

 

“That’s how I want to be and I just have to keep talking to the doctors and taking my medication and hopefully, that’s what I’ll become.”  His eyes glanced up, hoping to meet hers.  “I just hope you can wait for a little while and be my friend.”

 

“So…” she needed to clarify “…you’re on medication and you had counseling.  What else?”

 

“Oh, well…technically, they should be tossing me back in prison, but I’ve been given a conditional parole.  Sort of released on good behavior.  I have to meet my parole officer this afternoon.  You see, I helped the magical community figure out the cure for the virus and I wrote a paper about it while I was in here.  Hermione took it to the wizard authorities and they want me to do some more research, they’re willing to give me a job, but I have to complete some community service hours first and stay on my meds and in counseling for another year.”

 

“Wow…that’s…um…great.  I mean, you must have done a really good job for them to hire you.”

 

“It’s conditional.”

 

“What about the Muggle police and all that?”

 

“Three years probation plus time served, plus I have to check in with the doctor once a month.”

 

“So, what are you going to do in the meantime?”

 

“I’m not really sure.  That’s kind of where I hoped you could help.”

 

Diane turned toward the cab and walked back.  He followed.  She was about to tell the cab driver to drive toward her home, not sure where else to take him, but he interrupted.

 

“Would you mind if we made a quick stop on the way to where-ever you’re taking me?”

 

“Where?” she asked, again that tinge of distrust in her voice.  She couldn’t help it.

 

“Hargrove Cemetery.  I’d like to visit my mother’s grave.”

 

After his obsessive behavior regarding his mother, Diane shot him a worried glance.  He must have noticed for his explanation came quickly.

 

“The doctor suggested it.  You can ask him if you want.  He thinks I need to visit her, maybe talk some, allow myself to rest in peace just like she does.”

 

How could she deny him that?  Besides, the cab would wait.  She might have one heck of a fare at the end of the ride, but Daddy would take care of it.

 

“Sure.”

 

They rode in silence for a few minutes.  John seemed to be enjoying the sight of trees and snow as if he hadn’t seen them in years.  His head tipped back onto the cushion, body lax, no hint of danger anywhere near him.  This was such a different man, even from the one she had in her head.  His posture, attitude, voice, eyes all exuded a sort of post possession calm – the demons having given up their hold on him.  Resting just inches from her leg, his hand beckoned.  The urge to take it tickled in her centers for logical reasoning.  It was a friendly gesture, nothing more.  Inching toward him, she wrapped her hand around two fingers.  He squeezed, but still said nothing as they rode.

 

After about twenty minutes, the cab pulled up at the gate and John directed him in, down the winding road to the section that contained his mother’s grave.  He stepped out and held the door for her, immediately taking her hand as he walked over the still mottled white and green lawn.  The snow had melted off of the grave markers and Diane read a few of the names as they passed.

 

“Williams, Montague, Bryerton, Campbell, Abercrombie, Beamish.”  Diane paused, tilting her head at the name.  “Oswald Beamish?”

 

“Do you know him?” John asked, turning back a few steps to stand beside her.

 

“There’s an Oswald Beamish who worked for goblin rights for years.  Interesting that a Muggle had the same name.”

 

John shrugged.

 

“Let’s look around some more.”  Diane tugged his sleeve and kept walking down the path between the markers.  A few plots later she raised a hand to John’s chest, stopping him from walking further.  “John, look.”

 

“What?”

 

“Do you see the symbol on the tombstone?”

 

“Looks like a rose.”

 

“The stem of that rose is a wand, John.”

 

“No, it isn’t,” he refuted, stepping closer.  “Oh, yeah, maybe it is.”

 

Diane turned to him, shock written all over her face.  “Your mom is buried in a cemetery that has wizarding graves?”

 

“I guess.  I never really knew.”

 

“Where’s your mother?”

 

“Down this way,” he pointed and Diane started walking again, her eyes darting over the other names.  A few sounded familiar, others were just the typical Smiths and Jones of society.

 

“It’s just that typically wizards are buried with other wizards.  Some Muggleborns will be buried with their Muggle parents, but wizarding folk tend to stick together in life and death.”

 

“Diane.”  She spun back at his voice and saw him looking down, his arms crossed in front of him, one hand holding the other wrist.  It was clear he had found her and Diane returned slowly to join him, trying to be respectful and give him the time he needed.

 

“Do you want me to leave?”

 

“No.”

 

The grave marker was rather large compared to most in the area and Diane read the inscription.  “Margaret Fenwick Rasmussen, Beloved Wife and Mother, 1952 – 2000.”  Next to her, the grass remained undisturbed, she suspected a plot for John’s father when his time came.  She wondered if John had even considered his own end and whether this might be his final resting place.  Seemed a morbid line of thought, but considering their location, thoughts of death were probably the norm.

 

Trying to give him a little space, she took a step to her left, her eyes raking over the other graves, admiring the beauty in the carvings and design of the stones, some elaborate with angels and crests, others more plain and conservative.  Her eyes tripped over an unusual phrase and she stopped to read ‘Benjy Fenwick, 1955 – 1975, We Only Found His Bits’.  “Fenwick?”  Her eyes shot back to John’s mother.

 

“John?  Is this gentleman here any relation to your mother?”

 

John glanced over.  “That’s Uncle Ben.  He died before I was born.  Mum said he was attacked by a bear while he was camping and they never found all of him so, they just buried the bits they did find.  Kind of gives you the willies, doesn’t it?”

 

Now Diane’s eyes were starting to pop with excitement, the coincidences seemed more and more possible.  True, only parts of Benjy were recovered, but not from a bear attack.  “Um…are your grandparents buried around here?”

 

“Yeah, I think so.  A couple of rows over.  Why?”

 

Diane moved quickly now, cutting between rows and walking up and down, searching for the Fenwicks.  Could it be possible?  She strode through the sloppy grass as quickly as her water-soaked boots would let her until three rows back she saw them.  Her hand slipped to her mouth in awe.  The names were there.  Benjy’s parents and now Margaret’s as well.  Names she’d read in her history books more than once.  She never even heard John step up beside her.

 

“What is it?” he asked.

 

“John, are these your grandparents?”

 

“Yeah.  Why are you so…”

 

“They’re wizards, John.”

 

*** 

 

Arty was in a really bad mood.  Of course, his life hadn’t contained anything cheerful or positive in  - well, too long to remember.  Darn lawyers weren’t worth a knut they were paid.  All a bunch of arseholes in Arty’s opinion.  

 

Looking back, he wondered if it might have been better to just die than to sit around in a cell without his magic.  However, he also knew that it was likely a life in Azkaban might have been far worse than the relative luxury of the Muggle prison he was being taken to on this day.

 

The bus ride to the facility was bumpy and smelly.  He tried to ignore the other men, opting to examine his chewed-down nails with great interest.  Perhaps his confidence was misplaced, but he felt sure his wizarding friends would break him out of this place before long.  Without the magical security measures, it would probably be a breeze for them to break in and out.  Of course, he hadn’t heard from them in a while, not since being stripped, but he saw no correlation between the two.  They were his friends, afterall.  Amycus and Alecto would be locked up for years to come so he couldn’t count on his siblings, but there was other family that would come.

 

The bus’s brakes squealed as it came to a halt outside a large gate topped with razor wire.  Arty glanced at it not with any kind of awe or foreboding, just curiosity on which spell might take care of it.  The gates opened  - using Muggle electronics he guessed, for no one actually touched them.  After crossing two more gates and a large rolling door, the bus finally came to a stop and the inmates were ordered off.

 

Curling his lip with disdain at the guard’s bulking confidence, he reluctantly stood up and stepped into the aisle, cutting in front of another orange-suited man.  The hard nudge in his back was probably meant to show the man’s displeasure at having been cut off, but Arty truly didn’t care.  He’d just get assigned to his own little room and relax on his comfy cot as he had for the past six months.  Solitude could be a good thing.  He might even decide to read a bit until his escape could be arranged.

 

As they began their single-file exit from the bus, the large man behind him jabbed a foot into the back of his calf and Arty turned a ‘you’ll get yours’ look at the hulking creature, but what he got in response was a half-smile and what Arty could only describe as a ‘once over.’  He’d given that same look to a lot of women over his life.  That brought a somewhat depressing thought – the lack of female companionship, or perhaps it was female domination opportunities.  Those would be sorely lacking in the near future, but again, he had confidence he’d be out soon enough and able to satisfy any urges in a quick manner.

 

Escorted by several guards, the men walked through a processing office, being searched, poked and prodded until they finally shuffled into the main cell block.  Like entering the freshman dormitories for the first time, the existing guests of this hotel stared at the newbies with interest.  Arty just ignored them, they weren’t worth his time.  He paused as each cell door opened to welcome the newly incarcerated inhabitant, finally arriving at his new home away from home.

 

It wasn’t the cottage, but it was bleak enough that it would do.  The door swung open and Arty turned, head down as his shackled feet rattled over the painted yellow line demarking the distance from  open door to cell wall.  A funny kind of hum sizzled through his skin, drawing his focus back up to the new accommodations.

 

There were obvious differences in this cell compared to others he’d occupied.  The biggest being that it held two beds.  He never had to share before and that, in itself, was a distasteful revelation.  Before he even turned around, a guard’s voice spoke behind him.

 

“You two gentlemen are going to be our special guests.”

 

  _Two?_

Arty turned to see the same hulking glob of man from the bus sauntering in behind him.  Looking to the guard for some kind of explanation, he couldn’t help but see the smile on the large man’s face as he took a seat on his bunk.

 

Three more large guards stepped up to the doorway, the two original ones entering the cell with black metal looking rings in their hands.  They proceeded to remove the hand cuffs on each of them, replacing them with one of the rings on their right wrists.

 

“Have you ever seen the electronic fences that keep dogs contained in their yards?” the guard asked, snapping the ring onto his wrist.  “That’s what everyone here is going to think about your new, special jewelry.  But…” the guard leaned down just slightly, whispering enough that both of the men would hear.  “The wards around this cell don’t operate on electricity.”  He raised the lapel on his collar and there, underneath, sat the Ministry insignia.  Arty rolled his eyes in shock and disgust.  The guard stood up and smiled, the two uniformed men exiting the cell and closing the door.

 

Grinning, the guard passed a folded note through the bars.  Arty took it, already loathing the guard, but curiosity getting the best of him.  Stepping back, he opened it up.  It only read, “Compliments of Mr. Potter.”

 

Arty could feel his blood boil.  That annoying little half-blood would die if it was the last thing he did!  He had a mission now, years to study, to read, to determine the best, and most gruesome way to kill the wizard.  He didn’t notice the movement behind him until he turned to find his bunk.

 

His cellmate stood right behind him, at least a head taller.  He licked his lips.  “Come here, cutie.”

 

*** 

 

Ron’s shoulder was absorbing a barrage of snowball hits.  He wasn’t sure where they were coming from, but he kept getting punched in the arm and he was getting tired of it.

 

“Stop it!” he grumbled to no one in particular, but they just kept coming.

 

“Ron.”

 

“Stop hitting me!” he groaned again trying to turn away from the constant nudge to his shoulder.

 

“Ronald!  You promised!”

 

“Huh?” he grunted, rolling toward the noise.  It felt like night, but a light was shining nearby and Ron snapped back from his dream to the warmth of his bed.

 

She nudged him again.  “Ron, if we don’t go soon, we’ll miss it!”

 

He opened one bleary eye and tipped his head up to the sound.  Hermione was completely dressed and standing with fists on her hips, the glow of a nearby lamp filling the room.  Even with one squinty eye he could make out the slightly amused, slightly annoyed expression on his darling fiancée.  

 

“I did promise, didn’t I?” he asked, knowing full well that a morning lie in wouldn’t be in the cards today.  But, how could he turn her down?  “Come here,” he grumbled, waving her toward him.

 

“No, you need to get up.  If I come over there, you’re just going to want to fool around and we’ll miss it.”

 

“No, I won’t.  Now, come here.”  She looked hard at him.  “Please, ‘Mione?”

 

With a disgruntled huff, she stepped over and attempted to sit on the edge of the bed, but with Auror reflexes, Ron grabbed her and pulled her down on top of him faster than any spell.

 

“Ronald!” she squealed, toppling over onto his chest, giggling as she did.  He knew she wouldn’t be able to stay angry for long.

 

“Don’t worry.  We’ll go.  I just wanted a little morning kiss.  Is that too much to ask?”

 

“You haven’t brushed your teeth.”

 

“Freshening charm.” Ron smiled and reached for his wand.

 

“Fine, but just one little kiss.  No tongue!” she chided with a wagging finger.  “All other kisses will be conditional based on your follow-through and the quality of your toothpaste.”

 

“Agreed,” he smiled and pulled her in, his lips moving over hers with the tenacity of a unrequited lover.  She tasted of vanilla and mint, her hair smelled of jasmine and her body made his mouth water more than any food he had ever desired.  It would take all his self-control to release her and get out of his warm bed on this cold morning.

 

Her legs swung down on either side of his torso and his hands fell to her hips.  They were back to the soft, full curves that he loved.  Inside, a little demon called testosterone was beginning to growl, wanting to strip her of the denims and cup her glorious arse against him for the next few hours.  Against her warning, he pushed his tongue into her mouth, finding hers, stroking it, enticing it with predictions of a morning filled with lustful cries and sated bodies.  At first, she returned in kind, her Henley inching up so that her bared stomach slid over his as her soft breasts gave way to his firm pecs.  His finger tips began to search for the edge of her denims, trying to slip inside, to coax her into a morning trist.

 

Ripping her lips away, she warned him, “I said one kiss.  No more until you come through on your end of the bargain.”

 

“Fine.”  He released her, knowing he was beat.  He could never deny her the thing he had promised all those months ago.  That was a promise born of desperation, a vow spoken on the very wings of mornings first light, a sacred covenant between his heart and hers, one that he would always honor.

 

Hermione smiled brightly as he finally rolled out of bed.  The room was cold and he mumbled as he reached for a sweater.  “Do I have time for a shower?”

 

“No.  Besides, you took one last night.”

 

He nodded, knowing she was right and he was just procrastinating on a cold morning and the prospect of an even colder broom ride.  Within ten minutes, he was dressed in his warmest attire and met Hermione on his front stoop.

 

She rocked, hands rammed in her pockets, nose red, probably trying to stay warm.  It was a cold December morning, still very dark, a sliver of moon barely visible through a thin sheen of clouds.  With his broom in one hand and Hermione’s hand in his other, they strode down the street.  Just to be safe, they’d take off from behind the bushes in the nearby park.  No need to scare some early-rising neighbor who hadn’t yet consumed their first cup of coffee.

 

They walked briskly, Hermione smiling all the way.  Seeing her like this made him forget all about the temperature, except perhaps the warm tingle that radiated from his heart.  That had been present for years now, but even warmer since last June.  Reaching the park, Ron straddled the broom and reached out his hand for her.  She bit her lip with a smile, took his hand and almost jumped on with eagerness.  As he took them up, she ran a warming charm over both of them and they passed by the powerlines and tree tops, through the flutter of flocking birds and into the brisk air of near dawn. 

 

He’d have to fly a bit higher to clear the clouds and give them the best view, but that wasn’t a problem.

 

“How are we on time?” he asked, as they ascended even farther.

 

“Should be about one and a half minutes.”

 

The distant sky was indeed transforming from the ink of night to the gray-blue of morning.  A ridge of bright yellow and white lined the horizon as they climbed, the curve of the earth rolling to catch the anniversary of the planet’s creation.

 

Squeezing his thighs into the broom, they stopped.  It was right there, just about to crest and as in many previous trips, Hermione sighed and leaned back into him with a peace that he hoped had been born that morning six months ago.  Slipping his arm around her stomach, they hovered, breathing together, hearts in synch as the tips of the suns rays finally broke the horizon.

 

She moaned her appreciation and nuzzled against him.  Even without seeing her face, he knew she was smiling.  He was, too.  For several moments, they just sat there, enjoying the start of the day until finally it became too bright and Ron spun the broom around the other direction.

 

He flew on for a little while as they examined the tiny dots of houses in the country, the rushing wind covering up the cackle of morning roosters.

 

“Just think,” she began.  “In two more months, we’ll be married.”

 

“Anxious?” he asked.

 

“Anxious as in worried about the wedding?  No.  Anxious to be your wife.  Yes.”

 

“I hope Harry and Ginny won’t be upset that we’re married before they are.”

 

“No, they don’t mind.  Ginny really wanted June, but I kind of liked the idea of Valentine’s Day.  So, we’re both getting what we want.  That is…unless it’s not entirely what you want.”

 

“I just want you.  I don’t care when or how.”

 

“You’d just run off to a preacher in your denims, wouldn’t you?”

 

“No.  I didn’t mean that.  I still want it to be special.  I’m kind of looking forward to wearing the suit and seeing you in the dress, but it’ll be a great day whether it’s in winter or summer.”

 

“But I want it to be in an environment we both love.”

 

“Well, we could get married in a library and then you’d be all set.”  She swatted his arm.  “Speaking of, what are we going to do with all those books in your room.  They’re still in the boxes from when I moved them there.”

 

“That’s your fault.  You never let me stay in that room long enough to do anything with them!”

 

“Well, I can’t help that I have an insatiable appetite when it comes to your fantastic body, Miss Hermione Jean Granger.”

 

“Seriously, Ronald.  I need some bookcases and probably a desk for all the papers and stuff.”

 

Ron recalled the papers, one in particular that he’d read all those months before.  “Like wills and things like that?”

 

“What?”

 

“You know, your last will and testament.  That should be stored in a safe place.”

 

“How do you know about that?”

 

Ron knew it was time to confess.  Perhaps up here would be the best time and place.  She couldn’t march off on him and he’d have her undivided attention.  “You told me about it.”

 

“I did?”

 

“Yeah and…I sort of read it.”

 

“You what?  You read my will?”

 

“Yes.  I’m sorry.  I saw it and well…I just guess my curiosity got the best of me.”

 

She didn’t speak.  At first he thought she was building up to a tirade, but her body didn’t seem to react that way.  Then, he just assumed, he’d be getting the silent treatment.  Honestly, he wasn’t sure which was worse.  Probably the silence.  He could yell back at her anger, but not at her silence.  Either way, he felt a big apology coming.  He could be ultra sincere or he could try to joke his way out, but either way he had to say something.

 

“I didn’t mean to intrude on your privacy or anything.  It’s just that at the time, I had so many questions.  I wasn’t certain of your feelings for me, but I was so certain of my feelings for you and I just thought that this would give me a glimpse of what you really felt.”

 

“So, did it answer your questions?” she replied and he was thrilled she was still speaking to him.

 

“It spoke right to my heart, Hermione.  I’ll never wonder again about your love for me.”

 

“You’ll never need to.”

 

“If you want, I’ll write mine out and you can read it.  Then we’ll be even, alright?”

 

They began to descend, passing over the tree tops, approaching the park with caution.

 

“No, we’re kind of already even.”

 

“How’s that?”

 

“You remember that letter you wrote and gave to Harry?  You told him to give it to me if things turned out for the worse?”

 

“You read it.”  Did he need to ask?

 

“Ginny sort of found it and well, she passed it on to me.  Thought I’d like to read it.  She said it was vindication for all those times she told me that you loved me and I wouldn’t believe her.”

 

For some reason, his heart dropped just a notch.  “You still needed convincing, huh?”

 

“No.”  She reached over her shoulder and stroked the side of his face.  “I was convinced long before I read your letter, but it was…”

 

“Was what?” he asked just as they landed behind those bushes in the park.  He held her hand as she climbed off the broom.

 

“I can’t really describe it.  But, every time I read it, I just fall in love with you more and more.”

 

“Well, then, I guess it was a good letter.”  

 

“It’s sad that people wait until some dire circumstance makes them confess their true feelings.  Think of all the people that may go through life not knowing that someone loves them more than they could possibly imagine.”

 

 “I was almost one of them and so were you.  I hate to say this, but maybe everything that happened was meant to happen.  It was our destiny to go through this horrible time in our life just so that we could find each other.  I wonder about it all the time.”  She slipped her hand back into his and they strolled back through the early morning sunlight.  Suddenly, he stopped and turned to her.  “One question, though.”

 

Tipping her head, she waited patiently, her eyes twinkling with that same mix of amused and annoyed that he loved so much.

 

“Why did Harry get all your books and I just got your undying love?”

 

“Would you like the books instead?” she asked, sarcasm dripping from her lips.

 

“What do you think?” he asked, a smug smile lifting his cheeks.

 

She tugged his hand and started walking again, a lilt to her step as they exited the park.  “I think that by the time I actually bequeath you the books, you’ll be far too old to read them.”

 

“Oh…well…in that case.”

 

THE END

  


End file.
